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'WAY DOWN EAST; 



OR, 



^urtaittires uf ^mkt fife 



Br SEBA SMITH, 



THE 



ORIGINAL MAJOR JACK DOWNING. 



NEW YORK : 
DERBY & JACKSON, 119 NASSAU ST 

1859. 






V 



ei!nftQ9 •Morrting to AS ' '>ogre«i, in the y** XiUi, 6? 
S E I A. SMITH, 
, CUTk'i 0««« ot the Vnited Stetei JUitrict Court, for the ScutVem Krtrkt of Nw lum. 



(Hft 
MR. HUTCHF? 

ro s '06 



W. H. TINSON, 

BTERBOTYPB* 

24 r.eekman st. 



CONTENTS 



0H1.P1MR 

I. — JOHN •WADtET&mS TSIAt. . 

II. — YAKKEE CHRISTMAS 

III. — THE TOUGH TARS ... 

(V. — CHRISTOPHER CROTCHKT . 
V. — POIXT GRAY AND THE D0CT0B8 

VI. — ^JERRY Q0TTRIDGE . . . 

VII. — SEATING THE PARISH 
VIII. — THE MONEY-DIGGERS AND OLD NIOK 

IX. — PETER PUNCTUAL . 
X. — THE SPECULATOR . . . 

XI. — A DUTCH WEDDING . 
XII. — BILLY SNUB .... 
XIII. — THE PUMPKIN FRESHET . 
XIV. — A RACE FOR A SWEETHEART . 

XV. — OLD MJERS, THE PANTHER . 

IVI. — SSTH WOODSUM'S WIFK . . 





5 




. 29 




. 53 




. rfi 




. , 99 




125 




. 150 




. 166 




. 216 




. 236 




. 266 




. 289 




. 819 




, 839 




858 




. 870 



44 f 



as ifffon €ui!' 



OHAPTEE L 
joaN wadleigh's teial. 

The Early Jurisprud iiice of New England, including a Sketch of 
John Wadleigh's '^rial before Squire Winslow, for Sleeping in 
Meeting on the lord's Day; with a brief Report of Lawyer 
Chandler's memora jle Speech on the occasion. 

The pilgrim iithers of ISTew England, and their 
cliildren of the fi *8t and second generations, are justly 
renowned for tieir grave character, their moral 
nprightness, whi< h sometimes was rather more than 
perpendicular, ai d the vigilant circumspection which 
each one exercis' d over his neighbor as well as him- 
self. It is true t lat Connecticut, from an industrious 
promulgation of ler " Blue Laws," has acquired more 
fame on this scor 3 than other portions of the " univer- 
sal Yankee nation," but this negative testimony 



' AV A T DOWN E xV S T 



against the rest of New England onght not to be 
allowed too much weiglit, for wlierever the light of 
history does gleam upon portions further " Down East," 
it shows a people not a whit behind Connecticut in 
their resolute enforcement of all the decencies of life, 
and their stem and watchful regard for the well-being 
of society. The justice of this remark will suffi- 
ciently appear by a few brief quotations from their 
judicial records. 

In the early court records of "New Hampshire, in 
the year 1655, may be found the following entry : 

" The Grand Jury do present the wife of Mathew 
Giles, for swearing and reviling the constable when he 
came for the rates, and likewise railing on tlie 
prudenshall men and their wives. Sentenced to be 
whipped seven stripes, or to be redeemed with forty 
shillings, and to be bound to her good behavior." 

Another entry upon the records the same year is as 
follows : 

" The Grand Jury do present Jane Canny, the wife 
of Thomas Canny, for beating her son-in-law, Jeremy 
Tibbetts, and his wife ; and likewise for striking her 
nusband in a canoe, and giving him reviling speeches^ 
Admonished by the court, and to pay two shillings 
and sixpence." 



J u 11 N \v adleigh's trial. 7 

If it is consistent witli rational philosophy to draw 
an inference from two facts, we might here consider 
it proved, that the pilgrim ladies of 1655 had consider- 
able human nature in them. And from the following 
record the same year, it would appear also that there 
were some of the male gender among them at that 
day, who still exhibited a little of the old Adam. 

" Philip Edgerly, for giving out reproachful 
speeches against the worshipful Captain "Weggen, is 
sentenced by the court to make a public acknowledge- 
ment three seve. al days ; the first day in the head of 
the train band ; the other two days are to be the most 
public meeting days in Dover, when Oyster E-iver 
people shall be there present ; which is to be done 
within four months after this present day. And in 
case he doth not perform as aforesaid, he is to be 
whipped, not exceeding ten stripes, and to be fined 
five pounds to the county." 

The reader cannot but notice in this case, last cited, 
with what stem purpose and judicial acumen the 
severity of the penalty is made to correspond with the 
enormity of the offence. The crime, it will be seen, 
was an aggravated one. The gentleman against whom 
the reproachful speeches were uttered was a Captain ; 
and not only a Captain, but a "Worshir)ful Captain, 



8 'way down east. 

Whetlier Captain Weggen was the commanding officer 
of the train band, or not, does not appear ; but there 
was an appropriate fitness in requiring, that the crime 
of uttering reproachful speeches against (my Ca^tain^ 
should be publicly acknowledged at the head of the 
train hand. There the culprit would have to face all 
the officers, from the captain down to the corporal, and 
all the soldiers, from the top to the bottom of the com- 
pany, could point the finger of scorn at him. 

But as the injured party in this case was a worshijp- 
ful captain, it was very proper that a penalty of a 
higher grade should be affixed to the sentence. Hence 
the withering exposure of the ofi'ender to make public 
acknowledgments on two several occasions, '* to be 
the most public meeting days in Dover, when Oyster 
Mwer people shall he there jpresent^ 

Whatever may be said at the present day, as to the 
temperance reformation being of modern origin, it 
may be affirmed without hazard that the good people 
of IN^ew England two hundred years ago, were decided 
and strenuous advocates of temperance. They were 
not tee-totallers ; they did not prohibit the use of those 
" creature comforts " altogether ; but if any one among 
them proved to be a wine-bibber, or abused liis 
privilege of di'inking, woe be to him, he had to feel tha 



JOHN wad^eigh's trial. 9 

force of the law and good government. Witness tlie 
following court record in ^ew Hampshire,' in 1657 : 

" Thomas Crawlie and Mathew Layn, presented for 
drinking fourteen pints of wine at one time. Fined 
three shillings and fonrpence, and two fees and 
sixpence." 

The good people of the province of Maine in those 
early days have also left proof, that they were on the 
side of industrious and good habits and wholesome 
instruction. Their Grand Juries present as follows : 

"We present Charles Potum, for living an idle, 
lazy life, following no settled employment. Major 
Bryant Pembleton joined with the Selectmen of Cape 
Porpus to dispose of Potum according to law, and to 
put him under family government." 

So it seems there were some men, even in the early 
days of the Pilgrims, who enjoyed that more preva- 
lent luxury of modern times, living under fa/mily 
government. 

Again say the Grand Jury, " We present the 
Selectmen of the town of Kittery, for not taking care 
that their children and youth be taught thek cate- 
chism and education according to law." 

They took good care in those good old times, that 

the deahngs between man and man should be on 

1* 



10 'wAT DOWN EAST. 

equitable and fair principles, and without extortion. 
In 164:0, the Grand Jury say — 

"Imprimis, we do present Mr. John "Winter, of 
Kichmond's Island, for extortion; for that Thomas 
Wise, of Casco, hath declared upon his oath that he 
paid unto Mr. John Winter a noble (six shillings and 
eightpence), for a gallon of aqua vitge, about two 
months since ; and further, he declareth that the said 
Winter bought of Mr. George Luxton, when he was 
last in Casco Bay, a hogshead of aqua vitse for seven 
pounds sterling." 

The punishment inflicted on Mr. John Winter, for 
extorting from his customer two hundred per cent, 
profit on his merchandise, is not stated; but if one 
Thomas Wamerton, who flourished in the neighbor- 
hood at that time, had any agency in fixing the 
penalty, it probably went rather hard with him ; for 
this latter gentleman must have had a special interest 
in keeping the price of the article down, inasmuch as 
it is related of him, that in taking leave of a friend, 
who was departing for England, " he drank to him a 
pint of Mil-devil, alias rum, at a draught." 

Juliana Cloyse, wife to John Cloyse, was "pre- 
sented for a talebearer from house to house, setting 
difierences between neighbors." It was the mis 



JOHN wadleigh's tkial. 11 

fortune of Juliana Cloyse that she lived at too early 
an age of the world. Had her lot been cast in this 
day and generation, she would probably have met 
with no such trouble. 

Thomas Tailor was presented " for abusing Captain 
F. Kaynes, being in authority, for thee-ing and thov^ 
ing of him, and many other abusive speeches." 

At a town meeting in Portsmouth, March 12, 1672, 
" voted, that if any shall smoke tobacco in the meet- 
ing-house at any public meeting, he shall pay a fine 
of five shillings, for the benefit of the town." 

In a previous year, September 25th, at a town 
meeting, it was "ordered that a cage be made, or 
some other means be invented by the Selectmen, to 
punish such as sleep or take tobacco on the Lord's 
day, at meeting, in the time of the public exercise." 

It appears from this record that the town reposed 
unlimited confidence in the inventive powers of the 
Selectmen ; and it appears also that the energetic 
order of the town, passed on this occasion, was a few 
years afterwards successfully carried into practical 
operation. The following is preserved on the town 
records, July 24, 17Y1. 

" The Selectmen agree with John Pickering to huild 
a cage twekrtyfest sgua/re^ with stocks withi/n ity and a 



12 'way DOWN E as: . 

pillory on the top, a corwenient sjpac^ from the west 
end of the meeting-houseP 

Thus far we have confined ourselves to official 
records ; but some of the unofficia. and unwritten 
records of those days are of equal i: aportance to be 
transmitted to posterity, one of whicl . it is our present 
purpose to endeavor to rescue from c blivion. 

The affair of the cage, with stocks Jiside, and a pil- 
lory on the top, served to wake up " he congregation 
for a while, so that no one was ca ight napping or 
chewing tobacco in the meeting-h )use during the 
public exercises for several Sabbaths after this inven- 
tion of the Selectmen became a "ficed fact" at the 
west end of the meeting-house. As l le novelty of the 
thing wore off, however, the terror in some degree 
seemed to depart with it. There wts a visible care- 
lessness on the part of several old offenders, who were 
observed to relax their attention to tl e services, wear- 
, mg very sleepy looks, sometimes ya^vning, and occa- 
sionally putting themselves into unseemly positions, 
concealing their faces, so that the se irching sci utiny 
of old Deacon Winslow himself coi". id not decide for 
certainty whether they were asleep c • not. 

Among these delinquents, John ^ i'^adleigh seemed 
to be the most conspicuous, often leaaing his head so 



JOHN wadleigh's tkial^ 1<^ 

as to hide his eyes during half sermon time. He was 
also gruff and stubborn when questioned on the sub- 
ject. So marked was the periodical reeling of his head, 
that Deacon Winslow began to watch him as narrow- 
ly as a cat would a mouse. ISTot that the Deacon 
neglected the sermon ; he always took care of that 
matter, and for his own edification, as well as an ex- 
ample to the congregation, he steadily kept one eye 
on the minister, while the other was on John Wadleigh. 
There began to be sundry shrugs of the shoulders 
among the knowing ones of the congregation, and 
remarks were occasionally dropt, such as " Don't you 
believe John "Wadleigh was asleep during half the 
sermon yesterday ?" with the reply, " Why yes, I 
know he was ; but he must look out, or he'll buy the 
rabbit, for Deacon Winslow keeps his eye upon him, 
and if he don't make an example of him before long, 
I won't guess again." 

It was whispered by some, who were out of the pale 
of the church, that the Deacon's watchful powers with 
regard to Wadleigh were a little more acute in con- 
sequence of Wadleigh's having over-reached him 
somewhat in the sale of a cow, at which the Deacon, 
who prided himself on his sound judgment, it was 
alleged, always felt a littk mortified. The Deacon 



14 'way DOWN EAST. 

Iiowever was a very upright specimen of the old 
puritap race, and it is not probable Ms sense of justice 
and right was much warped. True, he manifested con- 
siderable zeal in looking after the delinquencies of 
John Wadleigh, but his " zeal was according to know- 
ledge ;" he knew "Wadleigh to be a disregarder of the 
Sabbath, sleepy-headed and profane, and he did there- 
fore feel a zealous and charitable desire to administer 
to him a little wholesome reproof, provided it could 
be done in a just, lawful, and Christian manner. 

He even felt it excusable, to accomplish so good a 
purpose, to enter into a pious fraud with Parson 
Moody. He had observed that though "Wadleigh 
generally appeared to be asleep at the close of the 
sermon, yet when the congregation immediately rose 
up to prayers, he always managed some how or other 
to be up with them, but with a flushed face and 
guilty countenance. The Deacon believed, and it 
was the general opinion, that "Wadleigh was asleep 
on these occasions, and that when the congregation 
began to rise, it always awoke him. He therefore 
suggested to Parson Moody, that on the next Sabbath, 
at the close of the sermon, instead of immediately 
commencing his prayers, he should sit quietly down 
three or four minutes, as though he were a little 



J 



JOHN WADLEIGh's TRIAL. 15 

fatigued, or had some notes to look over, and see 
whether Wadleigh would not continue to sleep on, 
while the attention of every one awake would of 
course be attracted to the Parson. This little plan 
was tried, hut without any very satisfactory result. 
It added something to the presumptive testimony in 
the case, but nothing clear and positive. Wadleigh 
held his head down about half a minute after the 
monotonous tones of the preacher's voice had ceased 
to fall upon his ear, when he started suddenly, rose to 
his feet, looked round a moment confusedly, and sat 
down again. 

At last, however, repeated complaints having been 
made to the Grand Jury, they saw fit to "present 
John "Wadleigh for a common sleeper on the Lord's 
day, at the publique meeting," a thing which Deacon 
Winslow earnestly declared they ought to have done 
weeks before they did. 

The Deacon was in fact the most important person- 
age in town, being not only the first officer in the 
church, but also a civil magistrate, before whom most 
of the important causes in the place were tried. Of 
course the offender Wadleigh, when the Grand Jury 
had once caught him in their net, had a pretty fair 
chance of having ^ustice meted out to him. Tha 



16 'way DOWN EAST. 

jury met early on Monday morning, and the first 
business before tliem was the case of Wadleigh, 
against whom a fresh lot of complaints had come in. 
They were not long in finding a bill against him as 
above-mentioned, and a warrant was put into the 
hands of Bill Cleaves, the constable, to hnnt Wad- 
leigh up, and take him before Deacon 'Squire "Wins- 
low, and summon in the witnesses for his trial. 

Bill Cleaves tipped his hat to the 'Squire as he 
went by upon his official duties, and gave him to 
understand what was going on. Whereupon 'Squire 
Winslow proceeded to put his house in court-order, 
having the floor of his large open hall, where he gen- 
erally held his com*ts, swept and newly sanded, and 
things all put to rights. One o'clock was the hour 
appointed for the trial, for as the neighborhood all 
dined at twelve, the 'Squire said that would give 
them an opportunity to go to the work with a full 
stomach and at their leisure. 

Accordingly, at one o'clock the parties began to 
assemble in the hall. 'Squire Winslow, who believed 
that a pipe after dinner was a good settler to the 
stomach, and always practised accordingly, came in 
with a pipe in his mouth, his spectacles resting on the 
^op ot his forehead, and taking a comfortable position 



JOHN WADLEIGh's TRIAL. 17 

in his chair, placed his feet, where he had a perfect 

right to place them, being in a land of Litertj, and 

in his own house, v(pon the top of the table. The 

prisoner, who had been found asleep in his chair at 
his own dinner table, was taken away suddenly, like 

Cincinnatus or Putnam from the plough, and brought 
into court, just as he was^ in his shirt sleeves, and 
placed at the other end of the table, opposite the feet 
of Gamaliel. Lawyer Chandler, who was always on 
hand to help the 'Squire along in all knotty cases, 
appeared with book in hand ready to lay down the 
law and testimony. Lawyer Stebbins was allowed 
by the courtesy of the court to take his seat by the 
side of the prisoner to see that he had fair play shown 
him. Bill Cleaves, the constable, took his seat a 
little behind the 'Squire, crossed his legs, and fell to 
smoking a cigar with great composure. 

'Squire Winslow's faithful bull dog, Jowler, whose 
duty it was to keep order in the house, took his 
watchful station under the table, directly under his 
master's feet, ready for any emergency. While the 
constable's dog, Trip, who had done his part in run- 
ning down the game and getting it housed, felt that 
his duties were over, and caring but little for the 
court scene, he had stretched himself upon the ^oor. 



XH 'WATDOWNEAST. 

and was as sound asleep as ever John Wadleigh was 
in church. The other witnesses and spectators pre- 
sent were too numerous to mention. 

The indictment was read, and tlie prisoner called 
upon to answer, who, at the suggestion of Lawyer 
Stebbins, replied, "ISTot guilty;" at which Deacon 
'Squire Winslow shook his head, and remarked in a 
low tone, " "We shall see about that." 

The first point made by Lawyer Chandler, was, 
that the ^prisoner should jprove Ms innocence j and he 
argued the point with much force and eloquence. It 
was no easy matter to prove that a man was actually 
asleep, but it was easy enough for a man to prove 
that he was awake. Therefore, from the nature of 
the case, the burden of the proof ought to lay upon 
the prisoner. " ISTow, we charge that on sundry occa- 
sions, "Wadleigh was asleep in church, against the 
laws of the town and the well-being of society. 
E'ow, if he was not so asleep, let him prove his alibi. 
A criminal always has a right to an alibi if he can 
prove it. May it please your honor, T take that 
ground," said Chandler, "and there I stick; I call 
upon the prisoner to prove his alibi.^^ ^ 

Lawyer Stebbins stoutly contended that the alibi 
could not apply in this case. He had never heard 



JOHN WADLEIGh's TRIAL. 19 

nor read of its being used in any case except murder. 
And tlie wisdom of tlie court finally overruled that it 
oelonged to tlie prosecutors to prove the sleep. 

"Well, if that be the case," said Chandler, "I 
move, your honor, that Solomon Young be sworn. 
I had no idea the burden of proof was going to lay 
on us, but still I've come prepared for it." 

Solomon Young was sworn, and took the stand. 

Question hy Chandler . — ^Do you know that John 
Wadleigh sleeps in meeting ? 

Witness. — ^I guess taint no secret; I don't know 
anybody but what does know it. 

Chcmdler. — ^Well, do you know it ? That's the 
question. 

Stebbins objected to the question. It was a lead- 
ing question, and they had no right to put leading 
questions to the witness. 

Chcmdler. — ^Well, then, let the court put the 
questions. 

Justice Wmslow. — What do you know about 
John Wadleigh's sleeping in meeting ? 

Witness. — ^I know all about it, taint no secret, 
I guess^ 

Justice.— Then teU us all about it; that's just 
what we want to know. 



20 'way DOWN EA.ST. 

WitTiess (scratching his head). — Well, the long 
and short of it is, John Wadleigh is a hard worken 
man. That is, he works mighty hard doing nothing ; 
and that's the hardest work there is done. It'll make 
a feller sleepy quicker than poppy leaves. So it 
stands to reason that "Wadleigh would naterally be a 
very sleepy sort of a person. "Well, Parson Moody's 
sarmons are sometimes naterally pretty long, and the 
weather is sometimes naterally considerable warm, 
and the sarmons is some times rather heavy-like. 

" Stop, stop," said 'Squire Winslow, " no reflec- 
tions upon Parson Moody ; that is not what you were 
called here for." 

Witness. — ^I don't cast no reflections on Parson 
Moody. I was only telling what I know about John 
"Wadleigh's sleeping in meeting ; and it's my opinion; 
especially in warm weather, that sarmons that are 
heavy-like and an hour long naterally have a 
tendency — 

" Stop, stop, I say," said 'Squire "Winslow, " if you 
repeat any of these reflections on Parson Moody again, 
I'll commit you to the cage for contempt of court." 

Witness. — I don't cast mo reflections on' Parson 
Moody. I was only telling what I knew about John 
"Wadleigh's sleeping in meeting. 



JOHN WADLEIGh's TRIAL. 21 

^3qui/re Winslow. — ^Well, go on, and tell us all 
about that; you want called here to testify about 
Parson Moody. 

Witness. — ^That's what I'm trying to do, if you 
wouldn't keep putting me out. And its my opinion 
in warm weather, folks is considerable apt to sleep in 
meeting; especially when the sarmon — ^I mean 
especially when they get pretty tired. I know I find 
it pretty hard work to get by seventhly and eighthly 
in the sarmon myself; but if I once get by there, I 
generally get into a kind of waking train again, and 
make out to weather it. But it isn't so with "Wad- 
leigh ; I've generally noticed if he begins to gape at 
seventhly and eighthly, its a gone goose with him 
before he gets through tenthly, and he has to look out 
for another prop to his head somewhere, for his neck 
isn't stiff enough to hold it up. And from tenthly up 
to sixteenthly he's dead as a door nail ; till the Amen 
brings the people up to prayers, and then Wadleigh 
comes up with a jerk, jest like opening a jack-knife. 

Sieblms^ cross-examining the witness. — Mr. Young, 
how do you hrww that Wadleigh is asleep on these 
occasions you speak of? 

Witness. — Cause he is ; everybody says he is." 

Steblins. — ^That won't do; we don't want you to 



22 'way DOWN EAST. 

tell us what everybody says. Yon must tell how 
you know lie is asleep ? 

Witness. — Well, cause lie begins to gape at sev- 
entbly and eighthly, and props his head up at tenthly, 
and don't stir again till the Amen. 

Stebbms. — ^Well how do you Tcnow he is asleep at 
that time ? 

Witness. — Cause when I see him settle down in 
that kind of way, and cover his face up so I can't see 
his eyes, I know he's asleep. 

Stebbins. — ^That's no proof at all ; the witness only 
knows he was asleep because he couldn't see his eyes. 

Chandler. — ^Well, this witness has proved that the 
prisoner exhibited all the outward signs of sleep ; now 
I will introduce one to show that he also exhibited 
internal evidence of being asleep. Your honor must 
know that it is a law in physics and metaphysics, and 
the universal science of medicine, that being deprived 
of one sense sharpens the other senses in a most won- 
derful degree. Kow I move your honor that my 
blind friend here behind me, Jonathan Staples, be 
sworn. 

Jonathan Staples was sworn accordingly. 

Chamdler. — ^ISTow, Staples, do you know that John 
Wadleigh sleeps in meeting ? 



JOHN WAD Leigh's trial. 2B 

Staples. — Yes, I du. 
Cho/ndler. — ^Do you know it ? 

Staples. — ^Yes, I know it. 

SqvA/re Wmslow. — How do you know it? 

Staples. — "Why, don't I hear him sleep every Sab- 
oath? 

Chrnidler. — ^What is the state of your hearing ? 

Staples. — 'It is as sharp as a needle with two pints. 

Chandler. — Can you always tell bj- a person's 
breathing, whether he is asleep or awake ? 

Staples. — Jest as easy as I can tell wl^jfcer I'm 
asleep or awake myself. 

Chandler. — ^Tell us where you sit in meeting, and 
how you know Wadleigh is asleep. 

Staples. — ^Well, I goes to meetiQg of a Sabbath, 
and commonly takes my seat in the seventh seat at 
the west end of the meeting-house. And John Wad- 
leigh he sets in the sixth seat, and that brings him 
almost right afore me. All the first part of the exer- 
cises he has a waking breath, till it gets along into 
the sarmon, say about seventhly or eighthly, and then 
he begins to have a sleepy breath ; and when it gets 
along into tenthly, he commonly goes it like a porpus. 

Squire Wmslow. — ^Do you know him to be asleep 
at these times 1 



24 'way down east. 

Staples. — ^I guess I du ; I dont see how I could help 
it. I know him to be asleep jest as well as I know 
I'm awake. 

Squire Wmslow. — ^W"ell, that's sufficient, unless 
Mr. Stebbins wishes to ask any questions. 

Stebli/ns. — ^ITow, Staples, do you pretend to say that 
you can tell John Wadleigh's breath from the breath 
of any other person in meeting ? 

Staples. — Sartainly I do. Aint everybody's breath 
pitched on a different key ? There's as much differ- 
ence in ]a||athing as there is in speaking. 

Chcmdler. — ^I'm willing, your honor, to rest the 
cause here. I have a plenty more witnesses as good 
as these, but I consider the case so clearly proved that 
it is hardly necessary to bring on any more unless my 
Mend Stebbins should offer anything on the other 
side which may need to be answered. 

Stebbms. — ^I dont consider it necessary, may it please 
your honor, for me to say a single word. I dont con- 
sider that there has been the least particle of evidence 
offered here yet, to prove that John Wadleigh ever 
slept a wink in meeting in all his life. And surely 
your honor wont convict this man without any proof 
at all against him. Look at the evidence, sir ; what 
lo«s it amount to ? One man has seen him lean hia 



JOHN Av AD Leigh's trial. 25 

head, and anotlier has heard him breathe ; and that 
is the Slim total. Why, sir, if you convict a man on 
such evidence as this, no man is safe. Every man, is 
liable to lean his head and to breathe in meeting. 
And if that is to be considered evidence of sleep, I 
repeat, who is safe ? ISTo, sir ; as I said before, I dont 
consider it necessary for me to say one word on the 
subject, for there has been no evidence offered to 
prove the offence charged. 

Here Lawyer Chandler rose with fire in his eyes 
and thunder on his tongue. ^ 

May it please your honor, said he, I am astonished, 
I am amazed at the hardihood and effrontery of my 
learned friend, the counsel on the opposite side of this 
cause. Why, sir, if there ever was a case made out 
in any court under heaven, by clear, positive, and 
irresistible evidence, it is this. Sir, I say, sir, evidence 
as clear as sunshine and irresistible as thunder. Yes, 
sir, as irresistible as thunder. First, sii', an unim- 
peachable witness swears to you, that he sees the cul- 
prit Wadleigh, the prisoner at the bar, gaping in meet- 
ing and exhibiting all the signs of going to sleep \ 
then he sees him flatting away and muzzling about to 
find a prop for his head. ISTow, sir, men don't want a 
prop for their heads when they are awake. Lt's only 



26 'way DOWN EAST. 

when tliej are asleep tliey want a prop for their heads, 
sir. Well, now sir, follow the prisoner along a little 
further, and what do we find, sir ? Do we find him 
wide awake, sir, and attending to the services as a 
Christian and as a man ought to do ? 'No, sir. We 
find him from tenthly up to sixteenthly, as dead as a 
door nail. Them's the witnesses' words, sir, as dead 
as a door nail. What next, sir ? Why, then the wit- 
ness swears to you, that when the congregation rise 
up to prayers, Wadleigh comes up with a jerk, jest 
like opening a jack-knife. Them's the witnesses' very 
words, sir. ]^ow, sir, persons that's awake don't get 
up in meeting in that kind of style. It's only them 
that's waked up out of a sudden sleep, that comes up 
with a jerk, like the opening of a jack-knife, sir. 
What stronger proof do we need, or rather what 
stronger proof could we have, of all the outward signs 
of sleep, than we have from this witness ? With regard 
to the internal evidence of sleep, another witness 
swears to you that he hears Wadleigh asleep every 
Sabbath • that he can tell when a person is asleep 
or awake by his breathing, as easily as he can tell 
whether he's asleep or awake himself. This wit- 
ness swears to you that during the first part of the 
exercises Wadleigh has a waking breath, and wlien 



JOHN W A D L E I G II ' S T K I A L . 27 

the minister gets along to seventhly and eighthly he 
begins to have a very sleepy breath. Well, sir, when 
the minister gets to tenthly, the witness swears to you 
that "Wadleigh commonly goes it like a porpns. Yes, 
sir, so sonnd asleep, that's the inference, so sound 
asleep, that he goes it like a porpns. 

Sir, I will not say another word. I will not waste 
words upon a case so strong, so clear, and so perfectly 
made ont. If this evidence doesn't prove the culprit 
Wadleigh to be a common sleeper in meetin on the 
Lord's day, then there is no dependence to be placed 
in human testimony. Sir, I have done. Whether 
this man is to be convicted or not, I clear my skirts ; 
and when posterity shall see the account of this trial, 
should the culprit go clear, they may cry out " judg- 
ment has fled to brutish beasts and men have lost 
their reason ;" but they shall not say Chandler did 
not do his duty. 

The effect of this speech on the court and audience 
was ti'emendous. It was some minutes before a word 
was spoken, or any person moved. AU eyes still seem- 
ed to be ri vetted upon Squire Chandler. At last 
Squire Winslow spoke. 

This is a very clear case, said he ; there can be no 
question of the prisoner's guilt ; and he is sentenced 



28 'way DOWN EAST. 

tx) be confined in the cage four hours, and in the stocks 
one hour. Constable Cleaves will take charge of the 
prisoner^ and see the sentence properly executed. 



YANKEE 0HEISTMA8. 29 



OHAPTEK n. 

YANKEE CHRISTMAS. 

The autumnal holiday peculiar to New England is Thanksgiving , 
while in the middle and southern States the great domestic festi- 
val is more generally at Christmas or New Year's. Whether the 
following historical sketch, therefore, applies with more propriety 
to Christmas or Thanksgiving, must depend in some degree upon 
the latitude in which Mr. Solomon Briggs resides. 

" Next Thursday is Christmas," said Mrs. Briggs, 
as she came bustling out of the kitchen into the long 
dining-room, and took her seat at the breakfast table, 
where her husband, Mr. Solomon Briggs, and all the 
children, being ten in number, were seated before 
her. K Mrs. Briggs was the last at the table, the 
circumstance must not be set down as an index to 
her character, for she was a restless, stirring body, 
and was never the last anywhere, without good 
cause. From cliildhood she had been taught to 
believe that the old adage, " the eye of the master 
does more work than both his hands," applied 
equally well to the mistress. Accordingly, she was 



oO ' W A Y D O WN E .\ g T . 

in all parts of the house at once, not only working 
with her own hands, but overseeing everything that 
was done by others. Indeed, now that we have said 
thus much in favor o/ Mrs. Briggs, a due regard to 
impartial justice requires us to add, that Mr. Briggs 
himself, though a very quiet sort of a man, and not 
of so restless and mercurial a temperament as his 
wife, could hardly be said to be less industrious. 
His guiding motto through life had been — 

" He that by the plough would thrive, 
Himself must either hold or drive." 

And most literally had he been governed by the 
precept. He was, in short, an industrious, thriving 
ISTew England farmer. His exact location it is not 
our purpose here to disclose. We give our fair 
readers, and unfair, if we have any, the whole range 
of E"ew England, from the shore of Connecticut to 
the Green Mountains, and from Mount Hope to 
Moosehead Lake, to trace him out. But we shall 
not point to the spot, lest Mr. Solomon Briggs, seeing 
his own likeness brought home to his own door 
might think us imj)ertinent for meddling with family 
affairs. 

To go back to our starting point — Mrs. Briggs, 
who had stopped in the kitchen till the last moment. 



YANKEE CHRISTMAS. 31 

in order to see the last dish properly prepared for 
breakfast, came herself at last to the table. 

"ISText Thursday is Christmas," said she, "and 
nothing done yet to prepare for it. I do wish we 
could ever have things in any sort of season." 

At the mention of Christmas the children's eyes 
all brightened, from James, the eldest, who was 
twenty-one, down to Mary, who was but two years 
old, and who, of course, knew nothing about Christ- 
mas, but looked smiling and bright because all the 
rest did. 

Mr. Briggs, however, who considered the last 
remark as having a little bearing upon himself, 
replied — " That he should think three days was time 
enough to get a Christmas dinner or a Christmas 
supper good enough for any common sort of folks." 

"It would be time enough to get it," said Mrs. 
Briggs, " if we had anything to get it with ; but we 
haven't a mite of flour in the house, nor no meat for 
the mince pies, and there aint no poultry killed yet, 
neither!" 

" Well, well, mother," said Mr. Briggs, very mod- 
erately, and with a half smile, "just be patient a 
Uttle, and you shall have as much Christmas as you 
want. There's a bushel of as good wheat as ever was 



32 'WAYDOWN^EAST 

groTind, I put into a bag on Saturday; James cau 
take a horse and carry it to mill this morning, and 
in two hours you may have a bushel of good flour. 
You've got butter enough and lard enough in the 
house, and if you want any plums or raisins, or any 
such sort of things, James may call at Haskall's 
store, as he comes home from mill, and get what 
you want. Then Mr. Butterfield is going to kill a 
beef critter this morning, and I'm going to have a 
quarter, so that before noon you can have a hundred 
weight of beef to make your mince pies of, and if 
that aint enough, I'll send to Mr, Butterfield's for 
another quarter. And then there is 'G.Ye heaping 
cart loads of large yellow punkins in the barn, and 
there is five cows that give a good mess of milk; 
and you've got spices and ginger, and molasses, and 
sugar enough in the house, so I don't see as there 
need be any difficulty but what we might have 
punkin pies enough for all hands. And as for the 
poultry, it'll be time enough to kill that to-morrow 
morning; and if two turkeys aint enough, I'll kill 
four, besides a bushel basket full cf chickens. So 
now go on with your birds'-egging, and make your 
Christmas as fast as you please, and as much of it." 
When this speech was ended, the children clapped 



YANKEE CHRISTMAS. 33 

their hands and langlied, and said, "never fear 
father — ^he always brings it out right at last." 

From that hour forth, for three days, there was 
unusual hurry and bustle throughout the house of 
Solomon Briggs. In the kitchen particularly there 
was constant and great commotion. The oven was 
hot from morning till night, and almost from night 
till'morning. There was baking of pound cake, and 
plum cake, and sponge cake, and Chiistmas cake, 
and ISTew Year's cake, and all sorts of cake that 
could be found in the cook book. Then there 
were ovens fall of mince pies, and apple pies, and 
custard pies, and all sorts of pies. The greatest 
display of pies, however, was of the pumpkin tribe. 
There were " punkin pies" baked on large platters for 
Christmas dinner, and others on large plates for 
breakfast and supper a month afterwards ; and others 
still, in saucers, for each of the small children. In 
the next place, there was a pair of plum puddings, 
baked in the largest sized earthen pots, and Indian 
puddings and custard puddings to match. And then 
the roastings that were shown up on the morning of 
Christmas were in excellent keeping with the rest of 
the preparations. Besides a fine sirloin of beef, two 
fat turkeys were roasted, two geese, and a half a 

2* 



34: 'way DOWN EAST. 

dozen cMckens. And then another half dozen of 
chickens were made into an enormous chicken pie, 
and baked in a milk pan. 

A query may arise, perhaps, in the mind of the 
reader, why such a profusion of food should be 
cooked up at once for a single family, and that 
family, too, not unreasonably large, though respectable 
in number, for it did not count over sixteen, inchi<i- 
ing domestics, hired help and all. This is a very 
natural error for the reader to fall into, but it is an 
error nevertheless. This array of food was not pre- 
pared for a single family; but for a numerous 
company, to be made up from many families in the 
neighborhood. The truth was, Mr. Briggs was well 
to do in the world, a circumstance owing to his long 
course of patient industry and economical habits. 
Several of his children were now nearly men and 
women grown, full of life and fond of fun, as most 
young folks are. Mrs. Briggs also was very fond of 
society, and a little vain of her smart family of chil- 
dren, as well as of her good cooking. From these 
premises, a gathering of several of the neighbors at 
Mr. Briggs'a house, to eat a Christmas dinner, and a 
still larger company of young folks towards night, to 
spend a Christmas evening would not be a very 



YANKEE CHRISTMAS. 35 

unnatural consequence. Such wchs the consequence, 
as we shall presently see. 

We shall not stop to give a particular account of 
the dinner, as that was a transaction performed in the 
daytime, openly and above-board, and could be seen 
and understood by everybody; but the evening 
company, and the supper, and the frolic, as they 
were hid from the world by the darkness of the night, 
need more elucidation. We must not dismiss the 
dinner, however, without remarking that it fuUfiUed 
every expectation, and gave entire satisfaction to all 
parties. A table of extra length was spread in the 
long dining hall, which was graced by a goodly circle 
of elderly people, besides many of the middle-aged 
and the young. And when we state that the loin of 
beef was reduced to a skeleton ; that two turkeys, one 
goose, and five chickens, vanished in the twinkling of 
a case-knife ; that the large milk pan, containing the 
chicken-pie, was explored and cleared to the very 
bottom ; and that three or four large pu idings and a 
couple of acres of " punkin pie " were among the 
things lost in the dessert^ we think it has been suffi- 
ciently shown that due respect was paid to Mrs. 
Briggs's dinner, and that her culinary skill should no* 
be called in question. 



36 'way DOWN EAST. 

" 'Now, James, who's coming here to-night «" said 
Susan, the eldest daughter, a bright, bhie-eyed 
gii'l of eighteen. "Who have you asked? Jest 
name 'em over, will yon ?" 

"Oh, I can't name 'em over," said James; "jest 
wait an hour or two and yon'll see for yonrself. I've 
asked pretty mnch all the young folks within a mile 
or two ; as much as twenty of 'em I guess." 

" Well, ha^ e you asked Betsy Harlow ?" said Susan. 

"Yes, and Ivory too, if that's what you want to 
know," said James. 

" ISTobody said anything about Ivory," said Susan, 
as the color came to her cheek, and she turned to go 
out of the room. 

" Here, Suky, come back here," said James, " I've 
got something to tell you." 

"What is it?" said Susan, turning round at the 
door, and waiting. 

"They say Ivory is waiting on Harriet Gibbs; 
what do you think of that ?" said James. 

"I don't believe a word of it," said Susan, coloring 
still more deeply. 

" Well, Harriet will be here this evening," said 
James " and then may be you can judge for yourself." 

"Is her brother coming with her?" said Susan. 



YANKEE CHKISTMAS. 37 

"George is coming," said James, "but whether 
she will come with him, or with Ivorj Harlow, 
remains to be seen." 

That Christmas was rather a cold day, and as night 
approached, it grew still colder. 

" Pile on more wood," said Mr. Briggs, " get yonr 
rooms warm, so there shan't be no shiverin' or 
hnddling about the fire this evening." 

The bojs were never more ready to start promptly 
at their father's bidding than they were on this occa- 
sion. The large fire-place in the long dining-room 
was piled full of round sticks of heavy wood almost 
up to the mantel ; and the fires in the " fore room" 
and in the end room were renewed with equal bounty. 
By early candle-light, the company began to drop in 
one after another, and by twos and threes in pretty 
frequent succession. There were stout boys in round 
jackets, and stouter boys in long-tailed coats, and 
rosy-cheeked girls in shawls, and blankets, and 
cloaks, and muffs, and tippets. Some of the middle- 
aged and elderly people who had remained to pass 
the evening, sat in the "fore room" with Mr. and 
Mi-^. Briggs, while the young folks were huddled in' o 
the end room, till the supper table should be spread 
in the long dining-hall. 



88 'way down east. 

" There's Ivory Harlow's bells," said James, as a 
sleigh came with a merry gingle up to the door ; and 
instantly the windows were crowded with heads look- 
ing out to see who had onme with him. Ivory lived 
abont a mile and a half distant and was the only one 
who came with a sleigh that evening, as most of the 
others lived considerably nearer. 

"Why, there's fom- of 'em, as true as I live," said 
Susan, as they crossed the stream of candle ligbt, 
that poured from the windows and spread across the 
door yard. One of the younger boys had already 
opened the door, and in a moment more the new 
comers were ushered into the room, viz : Ivory Har- 
low and his sister Betsy, and Harriet Gibbs, and a 
strange gentleman, whom Ivory introduced to the 
company as Mr. Stephen Long, the gentleman who 
was engaged to keep the district school that winter. 
And then he turned and whispered to James, and 
told him that the master had arrived at their house 
that afternoon, as he was to begin the school the next 
day, so he thought he would bring him with him. 

"That's jest right," said James, "I'm glad you 
did :" thou£rh at the same time his heart belied his 
-words, for he felt afraid it would spoil half the fun of 
the evening. The boys and girls all at once put ou 



YANKEE CHRISTMAS. o9 

long and sober taces, and sat and stood round the 
room as quiet as though they had been at a funeral. 
Presently Susan whispered to James and told him he 
ought to take the master into the " fore room," and 
introduce him to father and mother and the rest of 
the folks. " And I'd leave him there, if I was you," 
she added in a very suppressed whisper, lest she 
should be overheard. 

James at once followed the suggestion of Susan, 
and took Hr. Stephen Long into the other room and 
introduced him to Mr. and Mrs. Briggs and the rest 
of the company, and a chair was of coui'se set for 
Mr. Long, and he of course sat down in it and began 
to talk about the weather and other subjects of like 
interest, while James retreated back into the end 
room. The moment the master had left the room the 
boys and girls all began to breathe more freely, and 
to bustle about, and talk and laugh as merry as 
crickets. IN^ot a few regrets were thrown out from 
one and another, that the school-master had been 
brought there to spend the evening, and some of 
them thought " Ive Harlow ought to a-known better, 
for he might know it would spoil half their play." 
But it seems they had not rightly estimated Mr. 
Stephen Long's social and youthful quahties, who, 



4:0 'way DOWN EAST. 

although two or three and twenty years old, was 
almost as much of a boy as any in the room. He 
had not been gone more than fifteen minutes before 
he came back into the room with the young folks 
again, much to the dismay of the whole company. 

A cloud immediately settled upon their faces ; all 
were whist as mice, and sober as deacons, till Mr. 
Stephen Long came across the room with an exceed- 
ingly di'oU expression of merriment upon his face, 
and gave Jame? a hearty slap on the back, saying at 
the same time : 

"Well, now, what's the order of the day here 
to-night? Dance, or forfeits, or blind man's bhiff? 
I'm for improving the time." 

At once the whole company burst out into a loud 
laugh, and several of the juniors, feeling such a burden 
suddenly removed from them, fell to pounding each 
other's shoulders, probably to prevent them in their 
lightness from flying of the handle. 

" I guess we'll have something or other a going bime 
by," said James ; " whatever the company likes best ; 
but I guess we'll have supper first, for that's about 
ready." 

The words were but just uttered when the call for 
Slipper was given, and the fore-room, and the end 



YANKEE CHRISTMAS. 41 

room ponred out their respective companies into 
the long dining-hall. It was soon perceived that, long 
as the table was, they could not all be seated at once, 
and there began to be some canvassing to determine 
who should wait. Tlie elderly people must of course 
sit down, and the school-master must of course sit 
at the first table, and then it was decided that the 
youngest of the young folks should sit down too 
because the eldest of the young folks chose to wait and 
eat by themselves. To this last arrangement there 
was one exception ; for Miss Harriet Gibbs, when she 
saw the school-master seated on one side of the table, 
had somehow or other, inadvertently of course, taken a 
seat on the other side directly opposite to him. And 
when, as the young folks were retiring from the room, 
Ivory Harlow looked at her and saw she had con- 
cluded to remain, Susan thought she saw considerable 
color come into Ivory's face. 

When the first company at the table had eaten up 
two rows of pies clear round the board, including 
mince, apple and custard, and " punkin pies," of the 
largest class, together with a reasonable portion of 
various kinds of cakes and sweetmeats, and had given 
place to the second company at the table, who had 
gone through similar operations to a similai extent, 



12 WAT DOWN EAST. 

the great diniiig-liall was speedily cleared of dishes, 
and chairs, and tables, and all such sorts of trumpery, 
that there might be nothing tc impede the real busi- 
ness of the evening. 

The elderly people were again seated in the fore- 
room, where a brisk hre was blazing so warmly that 
they could sit back comfortably clear to the walls ; and 
around the hearth was a goodly array of mugs and 
pitchers of cider, and bowls heaped with mellow 
apples, red and yellow and green. 

^'- ISTow, then, what shall we have to begin with ?" 
said James. 

" Blind man's buff," said George Gibbs. 

" Suppose we have a quiet dance to begin with ?" 
said Susan. 

" Oh, I'd rather have something that has more life 
in it," said Harriet Gibbs ; " let's have ' hunt the slip- 
per,' or ' forfeits,' I don't care which. 

" Oh get away with them small potatoes," said Bill 
Dingley ; " let's go right into blind man's buff at 
once ; that's the stuff for Christmas." 

" You know we must please the ladies. Bill," said 
James Briggs, " I guess we'll have a sort of game at 
forfeits first, as Miss Gibbs proposed it." 

" Well, agreed," said all hands. 



YANKEE CHKISTMAS. 43 

Accordingly the company arranged themselves in a 
circle round the large hall, holding the palms of their 
hands together, and James took a piece of money 
between his hands and passed ronnd to each one of 
the company, and made the motion to drop the money 
into the hands of each. 

'i Button, button, who's got the button ?" said James 
to the head one, when he had been round the circle. 

" Harriet Gibbs," was the reply. 

" Button, button, who's got the button ?" said James 
to the next. 

" Betsey Harlow," answered the next. 

At last, when James had been clear round the circle 
and questioned each one in like manner, he called out, 

" Them that's got it, rise." 

At once up hopped Sam l^elson, a sly little red- 
headed fellow about a dozen years old, whom no one 
suspected of having it, and of course no one had 
guessed him. Every one of the company, therefore, 
had to pay a forfeit. 

" I move we redeem, before we go any farther," 
said Ivory Harlow. 

TliC' motion was seconded all round, and the forfeits 
were accordingly collected, and James selecting a 
couple, held them over Harriet Gibbs's head. 



i4 'way DOWN EAST. 

" Wliose two pawns are these ?" said he, " and what 
shall he and she do to redeem them ?" 

" The lady shall kiss the schoolmaster," said Har- 
riet, " and the gentleman shall go into the fore-room 
and kiss Mrs. Briggs. 

" Miss Harriet Gibbs and Mr. Ivor j Harlow go and 
do it," said James. 

" Oh, la me ! I shant do no sich thing," said Harriet 
with a half scream. 

" Then you don't have yonr ring again," said James. 

" Well, then, I suppose I 7}iust do it, or I shall be 
setting a bad example to the rest," said Harriet. And 
away she run across the room to Mr. Stephen Long, 
and at once gave the whole company audible evidence 
that she had fully redeemed her ring. 

Ivory Harlow walked leisurely into the fore-room. 
What he did there the young people could not certainly 
say, but from the hearty laugh that came from the 
elderly people there assembled, they inferred that he 
did something^ and on his return James gave him 
up his pawn. 

James then selected two more of the forfeits, and 
held them over Bill Dinsflev's head. 

"Whose two pawns are these, and what shall he 
and she do to redeem them ?" said James. 



YANKEE CHiilSTMAS. iS 

" They shall kiss each other through a chair back," 
said Bill. 

" Miss Susan Briggs and Mr. Stephen Long have 
got to do it," said James. 

Whereupon Mr. Stephen Long readily took a chair 
and approached Miss Susan Briggs. But Miss Susan, 
when she saw the school-master coming towards her, 
holding a chair up to his face, and his lip§ poking 
througli the back of it, colored up to the eyes and 
turned away. 

"Do it, do it!" cried half the company, "or you 
shan't have your hanker chief." 

Mr. Stephen Long seemed bent upon redeeming his 
pawn at any rate, and he followed Miss Susan with 
the chair with an earnestness that showed he did not 
mean to be baffled. When Miss Susan found herself 
cornered, and could retreat no further, she kissed her 
hand and tossed it at the chair. 

" That wont do," cried half a dozen voices. 

" I had to redeem mine," said Harriet Gibbs, " and 
it's no more than fair that she should redeem hers." 

" Well, you may redeem mine too, if you are a 
mind to," said. Susan, pushing the chair from her 
with her hand. 

Wlien Mr. Stephen Long found he could not 



46 'wAT DOWN EA.ST, 

redeem his pawn through the chair, he declared he 
would redeem it without the chau\ So setting the 
chair down, he commenced a fresh attack upon Miss 
Susan, who held both hands tightly over her face. 
After some violence, however, the company heard 
the appropriate signal of triumph, but whether the 
victory had been achieved upon cheek or hand, 
always femained matter of doubt. 

In redeeming the rest of the pawns, the penalties 
were as various- as the characters of the several per- 
sons who stood judges. One had to measure half a 
dozen yards of love ribbon. One had to hop across 
the room on one foot backwards. Another had to 
kneel to the prettiest, bow to the wittiest, and kiss 
the one he loved best. But when Bill Dingley stood 
as judge, he declared he wasn't in favor of any half- 
way punishments, and he accordingly adjudged the 
delinquents to kiss every lady and gentleman in the 
room ; that is, the lady to kiss the gentlemen, and the 
gentleman to kiss the ladies, which penalties the 
aforesaid delinquents performed according to the best 
of their abilities. 

When the game of pawns was over, the general 
vote seemed to be in favor of blind man's buff. 
James had to blind first, and he whirled about the 



YANKEE CnmSTMAS. 4:7 

room, and flew from side to side, and corner to corner, 
with as mnch ease and boldness as tliongh he had 
nothing over his ejes ; and he kept the company 
2ontinually flying from one end of the hall to the 
other, like a flock of frightened pigeons. He, how- 
ever, killed them ofl" pretty fast, by catching one 
after another, and sending them into the end room. 
While they were running for their lives, this way and 
that. Ivory Harlow couldn't help noticing that, some- 
how or other, Harriet Gibbs most always blundered 
into the same corner where the school-master was ; 
and sometimes she would run right against liim 
before she saw him ; and then sometimes she would 
almost fall down, and the school-master would have to 
catch hold of her to keep her frorq^ falling. More 
than once that evening. Ivory wished he had not 
brought her, and more than twice he wished Susan 
Briggs might forget that he did bring her. 

The brisk running and bustle at blind man's bnff 
di'ew the elderly people to the door of the fore room, 
where they stood and looked on. When James had 
caught about half the company, Mrs. Briggs could 
not stand it any longer. She slipped off her shoes., 
and in she went right among them, and joined in the 
^ame ; and she ran about lighter and quicker than 



48 'way DOWN EAST. 

any girl there. So much upon the alert was she, and 
moved about with such noiseless and nimble foot- 
steps, that she was in fact the very last to be taken. 
And when at last she was cornered and caught, 
James was a little puzzled to know who it was, for 
he felt almost sure he had caught all the large girls. 
But when he put his hand upon her head, and face, 
and neck, and shouldei's, he exclaimed, 

" Well done, mother ; this is you. Now you shall 
blind." 

" Oh, no, I can't do that, James," said Mrs. Briggs, 
retreating toward the fore-room. 

" Yee, but you must," said James, " you are the 
last caught." 

" Yes, yes, }^u must, you must," echoed the young 
folks from all sides. 

" Well," said Mrs. Briggs at last, " if Mr. Briggs 
and the rest of 'em will come out and run, I'll blind." 

The elderly people stood and looked at each other 
a minute, and at last they haw hawed right out, and 
then half a dozen of them came out upon the floor to 
join the game. The handkerchief was put upon Mrs. 
Briggs's eyes, and the old folks commenced running, 
and the old folks stepped heavy, and the young folks 
laughed loud, and there was a most decided racket. 



YANKEE CHRISTMAS. 49 

Mrs. Briggs, however, soon cleared the coast, for she 
was spr J as a cat, and caught her prey as fast as that 
useful animal would do when shut up in a room with 
a flock of mice. 

When this run was over, the play went back again 
exclusively iato the hands of the young folks, and af- 
ter several of them had been bliaded, it came at last 
to Bill Dingley's turn. BiH went iato it like a day's 
work. He leaped upon his prey like a tiger among 
eheep. He ran over one, and tripped up another, 
knocked one this way and another that, and caught 
three or four in his arms at once. He made very quick 
work of it, and caught them all off, but when he got 
through, two or three were rubbiag the bruises on 
their heads, and one was bleeding at the nose. This 
wound up the blind man's buff. 

Mrs. Briggs then came out and told Susan to get a 
table out in the middle of the room. She then 
brought forward a couple of nice little loaves of 
Christmas cake, and placed them on a couple of plates, 
and cut them up into as many slices as there were 
young folks present, men and women grown. 

" ITow," said Mrs. Briggs, " we'll see which of you 
is gohig to be married first. These two cakes have 
each of 'em a Christmas ring in them ; and whicli- 



50 'WAYDOWNEAST, 

ever gets the slice that has the rmg in it, will be mar- 
ried before the year is out. So all the gals over six- 
teen years old stand up in a row on one side, and all 
the young men over eighteen stand up in a row on 
the other side, and I'll pass the cake round." 

She carried it round to the young men first, and 
each took a slice and commenced eating to ascertain 
who had the ring. 

" By jings, I haven't got it," said Billy Dingley, 
swallowing his cake at three mouthfuls. 

" May be you've swallowed it," said George Gibbs. 

"Well, them that's got it," said Mrs. Briggs, 
" please to keep quiet till we find out which of the 
gals has the other." 

She then passed the cake round to the young ladies. 
When she came to Susan, Harriet Gibbs, who was 
standing by her side, said : 

" It's no use for any of the rest of us to try, foi 
Susan knows which slice 'tis in, and she'll get it." 

" ISTo, that isn't fair," said Mrs. Briggs ; " I put the 
rings in myself, and nobody else knows anything 
about it." 

The young ladies then took their slices, and Mrs. 
Briggs passed on to Sally Dingley, Bill's sister, who 
being on the wrong side of forty, did not stand in the 



YANKEE CHRISTMAS. 51 

row, and rather declined taking the cake. Mrs. Briggs 
ui'ged her, and told her she must take some ; when 
Bill suddenly called'out : 

" Take hold, Sal, take hold and try your luck ; as 
long as there's life there's hope." 

Miss Sallj Dingley run across the room and boxed 
Bill's ears, and then came back and said she'd take a 
piece of cake. 

" For who knows," said she, " but what I shall get 
the ring ; and who knows but what I shall be married 
before any of you, now ?" 

After the young ladies had eaten their cake, Mrs. 
Briggs called upon them that had the rings to step 
forward into the floor. Upon which, Ivory Harlow 
stepped out on one side, and Harriet Gibbs on the 
other. 

" Ah, that ain't fair ; that's cheatin, that's cheatin," 
cried out little Sam ITelson. 

" Why, what do you mean by that, Sam ?" said Mra. 
Briggs. 

" Cause," said Sam, " I see Susan, when she was 
eating the cake, take the ring out of her mouth, and 
slip it into Harriet Gibbs's hand." 

At this Susan blushed, Harriet looked angry, and 
the company laughed. 



52 'WAYDOWNEAST. 

Bj this time it was twelve o'clock, and the elderly- 
people began to think it was time for them to be 
moving homeward. And as soon as they were gone, 
the jonng folks put on their shawls and cloaks and 
hats, and prepared to follow them. Before thej went, 
however. Ivory Harlow got a chance to whisper to 
Susan Briggs, and tell her, that he supposed he should 
have to carry Harriet home this time, but it was the 
last time he should ever carry her anywhere, as long 
as his name was Ivory Harlow. 



THE TOUaH TAKN. 53 



CHAPTER m. 
THE TouaH yarn: 

Major Grant of Massachusetts was returning home 
from Moosehead Lake, where he had been to look 
after one of his newlj-purchased townships, and to 
sell stumpage to the loggers for the ensuing winter, 
when he stopped for the night at a snug tavern in one 
of the back towns in Maine, and having been to the 
stable, and seen with his own eyes that his horse was 
well provided with haj and grain, he returned to the 
bar-room, laid aside his cloak, and took a seat by the 
box stove, which was waging a hot war with the cold 
and raw atmosphere of INTovember. 

The major was a large, portly man, well to do in 
the world, and loved his comfort. Having called for 
a mug of hot flip, he loaded his long pipe, and pre- 
pared for a long and comfortable smoke. He was 
also a very social man, and there being but one person 
in the room with him, he invited him to join liim in 
a tumbler of flip. This gentleman was Doctor Snow^ 



54 'way down east. 

an active member of a temperance society, and there- 
fore lie politely begged to be excused ; but having a 
good share of the volubility natural to his profession, 
he readily entered into conversation with the major, 
answered many of his inquiries about the townships 
in that section of the State, described minutely the 
process of lumbering, explained how it might be made 
profitable, and showed why it was often attended with 
great loss. A half hour thus passed imperceptibly 
away, and the doctor rose, drew his wrapper close 
about him, and placed his cap on his head. The 
major looked round the room with an air of uneasiness. 

" What, going so soon. Doctor ? ISTo more company 
nere to-night, think ? Dull business. Doctor, to sit 
alone one of these long tedious evenings. Always 
want somebody to talk with ; man wasn't made to be 
alone, you know." 

" True," said the doctor, " and I should be happy 
to spend the evening with you; but I have to go three 
miles to see a patient yet to-night, and it's high time I 
was off. But luckily. Major, you won't be left alone 
after all, for there comes Jack Robinson, driving his 
horse and wagon into the yard now ; and I presume 
he'll not only spend the evening with you, but stop 
«11 night." 



THE TOTJGH YARN. 5 



< 



'^ Well, that's good news," said the Major, " if he'll 
only talk. Will he talk, Doctor ?" 

" Talk ? yes ! till all is blue. He's the greatest 
talker you ever met. I'll tell you what 'tis. Major, I'll 
bet the price of your reckoning here to-night, that 
you may ask him the most direct simple question you 
please, and you shan't get an answer from him under 
half an horn*, and he shall keep talking a steady stream 
the whole time, too." 

" Done," said the major ; " 'tis a bet. Let us under- 
stand it fairly, now. You say I may ask him any 
simple, plain question I please, and he shall be half 
an hour answering it, and talk all the time too ; and 
you will bet my night's reckoning of it." 

" That's the bet exactly," said the doctor. 

Here the parties shook hands upon it, just as the 
door opened, and Mr. Jack Robinson came Kmping 
into the room, supported by a crutch, and with some- 
thing of a bustling, care-for-nothing air, hobbled along 
toward the fire. The doctor introduced Mr. Jack 
Eobinson to Major Grant, and after the usual saluta- 
tions and shaking of hands, Mr. Eobinson took his 
eeat upon tlie other side of the stove, opposite the 
major. 

Mr. Jack Eobinson was a small, brisk man, with 



66 'way DOWN EAST. 

a grey twiakling eye, and a knowing expression of 
countenance. As he carefully settled himself into his 
chair, resting his lame limb against the edge of the 
stove-hearth, he threw his hat carelessly npon the 
floor, laid his crutch across his knee, and looked round 
with a satisfied air, that seemed to say, " JS'ow, gentle- 
men, if you want to know the time of day, here's the 
boy that can tell ye." 

"Allow me, Mr. Kobinson, to help you to a 
tumbler of hot flip," said the major, raising the mug 
from the stove. 

"With ill my heart, and thank ye too," said 
Robinson, taking a sip from the tumbler. " I believe 
there's nothing better for a cold day than a hot flip. 
I've known it to cure many a one who was thought to 
be in a consumption. There's sometliing so " — 

"And I have known it," said the doctor, shrug- 
ging his shoulders, "to kill many a one that was 
thought to have an excellent constitution and sound 
health." 

"There's something so warming," continued Mr. 
Robinson, following up his own thoughts so earnestly 
that he seemed not to have heard the remark of the 
doctor " there's something so warming and so nou- 
rishing in hot flip, it seems to give new life to the 



THE TOUGH \AKN. 57 

blood, and puts the insides all in good trim. And as 
for cold weather, it will keep that out better than any 
double-milled kersey or feamot great coat that I ever 
see. 

" I could arive twenty miles in a cold day with a 
good mug of hot flip easier than I could ten miles 
without it. And this is a cold day, gentlemen, a rea^ 
cold day, there's n . mistake about it. This norwester 
cuts like a razor. But tain't nothing near so cold as 
'twas a year ago, the twenty-second day of this 
month. That day, it seemed as if your breath would 
freeze stiff before it got an inch from your mouth. I 
drove my little Canada grey in a sleigh that day 
twelve miles in forty-five minutes, and froze two of 
my toes on my lame leg as stiff as maggots. Them 
toes chill a great deal quicker than they do on t'other 
foot. In my well days I never froze the coldest day 
that ever blew. But that cold snap, the twenty- 
second day of last November, if my little grey 
hadn't gone like a bird, would have done the job for 
my poor lame foot. Wlien I got home I found two 
of my sheep dead, and they were under a good shed, 
too. And one of my neighbors, poor fellow, went 
into the woods after a load of wood, and we found 

him next day froze to death, leaning up against a 

8* 



68 'aV A Y D O W N E A S T . 

beech tree as stiff as a stak 3. But liis oxen was alive 
and well. It's very wonderful how much longer a 
brute critter will stan' the cold than a man will. 
Them oxen didn't even shiver." 

"Perhaps," said the doctor, standing with his 
back towards Mr. Eobinson, " perhaps the oxen had 
taken a mug of hot flip before they went into the 
woods." 

By tliis time Major Grant began to feel a little 
suspicious that he might lose his bet, and was setting 
all his wits to work to '^x on a question so direct and 
limited in its nature, that it could not fail to draw 
from Mr. Robinson a pretty direct answer. He had 
thought at first of making some simple inquiry about 
the weather ; but he now felt convinced that, with 
Mr. HobiuBon, the weather was a very copious subject. 
He had also several times thought of asking some 
question in relation to the beverage they were drink- 
ing ; such as, whether Mr. Robinson preferred flip to 
hot sling. And at first he could hardly perceive, if 
the question were put direct, how it could fail to 
bring out a direct yes or no. But the discursive 
nature of Mr. Robinson's eloquence on flip had already 
induced him to turn his thoughts in another direction 
for a safe and suitable question. At last he thought 



THE TOUGH TARN. 59 

he would make his inquiry in reference to Mr. Kobin- 
son's lameness. He would have asked the cause of 
his lameness, but the thought occurred to him thai 
the cause might not be clearly known, or his lame- 
ness might have been produced by a complication of 
causes, that would allow too much latitude for a reply. 
He resolved, therefore, simply to ask him whether his 
lameness was in the leg or in the foot. That was a 
question which it appeared to him required a short 
answer. For if it were in the leg, Mr. Robinson 
would say it was in his leg; and if it were in his 
foot, he would at once reply, in his foot ; and if it 
were in both, what could be more natural than that 
he should say, in both ? and that would seem to be 
the end of the story. 

Having at length fully made up his mind as to the 
point of attack, he prepared for the charge, and 
taking a careless look at his watch, he gave the 
doctor a sly wink. Doctor Snow, without turning or 
scarce appearing to move, drew his watch from 
beneath his wrapper so far as to see the hour, and 
returned it again to his pocket. 

" Mr. Robinson," sai^J the major, " if I may pre- 
sume to make the inquiry, is your lameness in the 
xeg or in the foo^ ?" 



60 'way DOWN EAST. 

"Well, that reminds me," said Mr. Kobinson, 
taking a sip from the tumbler, which he still held in 
his hand, " that reminds me of what m^^ old father 
said to me once when I was a boy. Says he, ' Jack, 
you blockhead, don't you never tell where anything 
is, unless you can first tell how it come there.' The 
reason of his saying it was this : Father and I was 
coming in the steamboat from ITew York to Provi- 
dence; and they was all strangers on board — we 
didn't know one of 'em from Adam ; and on the 
way, one of the passengers missed his pocket-book, 
and begun to make a great outcry about it. He 
called the captain, and said there must be a search. 
The boat must be searched, and all the passengers 
and all on board must be searched. "Well, the cap- 
tain he agreed to it ; and at it they went, and over- 
hauled everything from one end of the boat to 
t'other ; but they couldn't find hide nor hair of it. 
And they searched all the passengers and all the 
hands, but they couldn't get no track on't. And the 
man that lost the pocket-book took on and made a 
great fuss. He said it wasn't so much on account of 
tlie money, for there wasn't ♦a great deal in it; ,but 
the papers in it were of great consequence to him, 
and he offered to give ten dollars to any body that 



THE TOUGH YARN. 6\ 

would find it. Pretty soon after tliat, I was fixin' up 
father's bertli a little, where he was going to sleep, 
and I found the pocket-book under the clothes at the 
head of the berth, where the thief had tucked it 
away while the search was going on. So I took it, 
tickled enough, and run to the man, and told him I 
had found his pocket-book. He catched it out of my 
hands, and says he, ^ Where did you find it V Says 
I, ' Under the clothes in the head of my father's 
berth.' 

" ^ In your father's berth, did you V says he, and tie 
give me a look and spoke so sharp, I jumped as ii I 
was going out of my skin. 

" Says he, ' Show me the place.' 

" So I run and showed him the place. 

" ' Call your father here,' says he. So I run and 
called father. 

" * IS'ow Mister,' says he to father, * I should like to 
know how my pocket-book come in your berth.' 

" * I don't know nothin' about it,' says father. 

" Then he turned to me and says he, * Young man, 
how came this pocket-book in your father's berth ?' 

" Says I, ' I can't tell. I found it there, and that's 
all I know about it.' 

" Then he calh d the captain and asked him if he 



62 'WAY DOWN EAST. 

knew us. The captain said lie didn't. The mac 
looked at us mighty sharp, first to father, and then to 
me, and eyed us from top to toe. We wasn't neither 
of us dressed very slick, and we could tell by his looks 
pretty well what he was thinking. At last he said 
he would leave it to the passengers whether, under all 
the circumstances, he should pay the boy the ten 
dollars or not. I looked at father, and his face was 
as red as a blaze, and I see his dander beguQ to rise. 
He didn't wait for any of the passengers to give their 
opinion about it, but says he to the man, " Dod-rot 
your money ! if you've got any more than you want, 
you may throw it into the sea for what I care ; but if 
you ofi'er any of it to my boy, I'll send you where a 
streak of lightning wouldn't reach you in six 
months." 

" That seemed to settle the ousiness ; the man didn't 
say no more to father, and most of the passengers 
begun to look as if they didn't believe father was 
guilty. But a number of times after that, on the 
passage, I see the man that lost the pocket-book whis- 
per to some of the passengei's, and then turn and looi 
at father. And then father would look gritty enough 
to bite a board-nail off. When we got ashore, as soon 
as we got a little out of sight of folks, father catched 



THE TOTJGH YARN. 63 

hold of my arm and gave it a most awful jerk, and 
says lie, " Jack you blockhead, don't you never tell 
where any thing is again, unless you can first tell how 
it come there." 

"Now it would be about as difficult," continued 
Mr. Robinson after a slight pause, which he employed 
in taking a sij. from his tumbler, "for me to tell to a 
certainty how I come by this lameness, as it was to 
tell how the pocket-book come in father's berth. 
There was a hundred folks aboard, and we knew some 
of 'em must a put it in ; but which one 'twas, it wou^d 
have puzzled a Philadelphia lawyer to tell. "Well, 
it's pretty much so with my lameness. This poor leg 
of mine has gone through some most awful sieges, 
and it's a wonder there's an inch of it left. But it's a 
pretty good leg yet ; I can almost bear my weight 
'ipon it ; and with the help of a crutch you'd be sur- 
prised to see how fast I can get over the ground." 

" Then your lameness is in the leg rather than in 
the foot?" said Major Grant, taking advantage. of a 
short pause in Mr. Robinson's speech. 

" Well, I was going on to tell you all the particu- 
lars," said Mr. Robinson. "You've no idea what 
terrible narrow chances I've gone through with this 
leg." 



64 'way DOWN EAST. 

" Then the difficulty is in the leg, is .t not?" said 
Major Grant. 

" Well, after I tell yon the particulars," said Mr. 
Robinson, " yoi ^an judge for yourself. The way it 
first got hui't was going in a swimming, when I was 
about twelve years old. I could swim like a duck, 
and used to be in Uncle John's mill-pond along with 
his Stephen half the time. Uncle John, he always 
used to keep scolding at us and telling of us we should 
get sucked into the floome bime-by, and break our 
plaguy necks under the water-wheel. But we knew 
better. We'd tried it so much we could tell jest how 
near we could go to the gate and get away again with- 
out being drawn through. But one day Steeve, jest to 
plague me, threw my straw hat into the pond between 
me and the gate. I was swimming about two rods from 
the gate, and the hat was almost as near as we dared 
to go, and the stream was sucking it down pretty fast ; 
so I sprung with all my might to catch the hat before 
it should go through and get smashed under the water- 
wheel. When I got within about half my length of 
it, I found I was as near the gate as we ever dared to 
go But I hated to lose the hat, and I thought I might 
venture to go a little nearer, so I fetched a spring with 
all my might, and grabbed the hat and put it on my 



THETOUGHYA.RN. 65 

head, and turned back and pulled for my Hfe. Al 
first I thought I gained a little, apd I made my hands 
and feet fly as tight as I could spring. In about a 
minute I found I didn't gain a bit one way nor t'other ; 
and then I sprung as- if I would a tore my arms off; 
and it seemed as if I could feel the sweat start all over 
me right there in the water. I begun to feel all at 
once as if death had me by the heels, and I screamed 
for help. Stephen was on the shore watching me, but 
he couldn't get near enough to help me. When he 
see I couldn't gain any, and heard me scream, he was 
about as scared as I was, and turned and run towards 
the mi_l, and screamed for uncle as loud as he could 
bawl. In a minute uncle come running to the miU- 
pond, and got there jest time enough to see me going 
through the gate feet foremost. Uncle said, if he 
should live to be as old as Methuselah, he should never 
forget what a beseeching look my eyes had as I lifted 
up my hands towards him and then sunk guggling 
into the floome. He knew I should be smashed all to 
pieces under the great water-wheel : but he run round 
as fast as he could to the tail of the mill to be ready 
to pick up my mangled body when it got through, so 
I might be carried home and buried. Presently he 
see me drifting along in the white foam that came out 



66 WAYDOWI^rEAST. 

from under the mill, and lie got a pole with a hook to 
it and drawed me to the shore. He found I was not 
jammed all to pieces as he expected, though he 
couldn't see any signs of life. But having consider- 
able doctor skill, he went to wq k upon me, and rolled 
me over, and rubbed me, and worked upon me, till 
bime-bj I began to groan and breathe. And at last 
I come tOy so I could speak. They carried me home 
and sent for a doctor to examine me. My left foot and 
leg was terribly bruised, and one of the bones broke, 
and that was all the hurt there was on me. I must 
have gone lengthways right in between two buckets 
of the water-wheel, and that saved my life. But this 
poor leg and foot got such a bruising I wasn't able to 
go a step on it for three months, and never got entirely 
over it to this day." 

" Then your lameness is in the leg and foot both, is 
it not ?" said Major Grant, hoping at this favorable 
point to get an answer to this question. 

" Oh, it wasn't that bruising under the mill-wheel," 
said Mr. Jack Robinson, " that caused this lameness, 
though I've no doubt it caused a part of it and helps 
to make it worse ; but it wasn't the principal cause. 
I've had tougher scrapes than that in my day, and I 
was going on to tell you what I s'pose hurt my leg 



THE TOUGH YARN. 67 

more than anything else ever happened to it. When 
I was about eighteen years old I was the greatest 
hnnter there was within twenty miles round. I had 
a first-rate little fowling-piece ; she wonld carry as 
true as a hair. I could hit a squirrel fifty yards 
twenty times running. And at all the thanksgiving 
shooting-matches I used to pop off the geese and 
turkeys so fast, it spoilt all their fun ; and they got so 
at last they wouldn't let me fire till all the rest had 
fired round three times a piece. And when all of 
'em had fired at a turkey three times and couldn't 
hit it, they would say, ' well, that turkey belongs to 
Jacli Robinson.' So I would up and fire and pop it 
over. "Well, I used to be almost everlastingly a 
gunning; and father would fret and scold, because 
whenever there was any work to do, Jack was always 
off in the woods. One day I started to go over Bear 
Mountain, about two miles from home, to see if I 
couldn't kill some raccoons ; and I took my brother 
Ked, who was three years younger than myself, with 
me to help bring home the game. We took some 
bread and cheese and doughnuts in our pockets, for 
we calculated to be gone all day, and I shouldered 
my little fowling-piece, and took a plenty of powdei 
• d shot and small bullets, and off we started through 



68 'WA.YDOWNEAST. 

the Tioods. When we got round the other side ot 
Bear Mountain, Tvhere I had always had the best luck 
in hunting, it was about noon. On the way I had 
killed a couple of grey squirrels, a large fat raccoon, 
and a hedge-hog. "We sot down under a large beech 
tree to eat our bread and cheese. As we sot eating, 
we looked up into the tree, and it was very full of 
beechnuts. They were about ripe, but there had not 
been frost enough to make them drop much from the 
tree. So says I to Ned, Let us take some sticks and 
climb this tree and beat off some nuts to carry home. 
So we got some sticks, and up we went. We hadn't 
but jest got cleverly up into the body of the tree, 
before we heard something crackling among the 
bushes a few rods off. We looked and listened, and 
heard it again, louder and nearer. In a minute we 
see the bushes moving, not three rods off from the 
tree, and something black stirring about among them. 
Then out come an awful great black bear, the ugliest- 
looking feller that ever I laid my eyes on. He looked 
up towards the tree we was on, and turned up his nose 
as though he was snuffing something. I begun to 
feel pretty streaked; I knew bears was terrible 
climbers, and I'd a gin all the world if I'd only had 
mv gun in my hand, well loaded. But there was no 



THE TOUGH YARN. 69 

timb to go down after it now, and I thought the only 
way was to keep as still as possible, and perhaps he 
might go off again about his business. So we didn't 
stir nor hardly breathe. Whether the old feUer smelt 
us, or whether he was looking for beechnuts, I don't 
know ; but he reared right up on nis hind legs and 
walked as straight to the tree as a man could walk. 
He walked roimd the tree twice, and turned his great 
black nose up, and looked more like Old Mck than 
anything I ever see before. Then he stuck his sharp 
nails into the sides of the tree, and begun to hitch 
himself up. I felt as if we had got into a bad scrape, 
and wished we was out of it. ITed begun to cry. 
But, says I to ISTed, ' It's no use to take on about it ; 
if he's coming up we must fight him off the best way 
we can.' We climb'd up higher into the tree, and 
the old bear come hitching along up after us. I 
made E'ed go .up above me, and, as I had a pretty 
good club in my hand, I thought I might be able to 
keep the old feller down. He didn't seem to stop for 
the beechnuts, but kept climbing right up towards 
us. When he got up pretty near I poked my club at . 
him, and he showed his teeth and growled. Says I, 
* Ked, scrabble up a little higher.' We clim up two 
or three limbs higher, and the old bear followed close 



70 'WATDOWNEAST 

after. When he got up so lie could almost touch my 
feet, I thought it was time to begin to fight. So 1 up 
with my club and tried to fetch him a pelt over the 
nose. And the very first blow he knocked the club 
right out of my hand, with his great nigger paw, as 
easy as I could knock it out of the hand of a baby a 
year old. I begun to think then it was gone goose 
with us. However, I took Ned's club, and thought 
I'd try once more ; but he knocked it out of my hand 
like a feather, and made another hitch and grabbed 
at my feet. "We scrabbled up the tree, and he after 
us, till we got almost to the top of the tree. At last 
I had to stop a little for E'ed, and the old bear 
clinched my feet. First he stuck his claw into 'em, 
and then he stuck his teeth into 'em, and begun to 
naw. I felt as if 'twas a gone case, but I kicked and 
fit, and told Ned to get up higher ; and he did get up 
a little higher, and I got up a little higher too, and 
the old bear made another hitch and come up higher, 
and begun to naw my heels agaia. And then the top 
of the tree begun to bend, for we had got up so high 
we was all on a single limb as 'twere ; and it bent a 
little more, and cracked and broke, and down wc 
went, bear and all, about thirty feet, to the gromid. 
At first I didn't know whether I was dead or alive. I 



THE TODGH YARN. 71 

guess we all lay still as much as a minute before we 
could make out to breathe. When I come to my feel- 
ing a little, I found the bear had fell on my lame leg, 
and give it another most awful crushing. Ked wasn't 
hurt much. He fell on top of the bear, and the bear 
fell partly on me. Ned sprung off and got out of the 
way of the bear; and in about a minute more the 
bear crawled up slowly on to his feet, and began to 
walk off, without taking any notice of us, and I was 
glad enough to see that he went rather lame. When 
I come to try my legs I found one of 'em was terribly 
smashed, and I couldn't walk a step on it. So I told 
Ned to hand me my gun, and to go home as fast as 
he could go, and get the horse and father, and come 
and carry me home. 

" Ned went off upon the quick trot, as if he was aftei 
the doctor. But the blundering critter — Ned always 
was a great blunderer — ^lost his way and wandered 
about in the woods all night, and didn't get home till 
sunrise next morning. The way I spent the night 
wasn't very comfortable, I can tell ye. Jest before 
dark it begun to rain, and I looked round to try to 
find some kind of a shelter. At last I see a great tree, 
lying on the ground a little ways off, that seemed to 
be holler. I crawled along to it, and found ther^ 



72 'way DOWN EAST. 

was a holler in one end large enough for me to creep 
into. So in I went, and in order to get entirely out 
of the way of the spattering of the rain, and keep 
myself dry, I crept in as much as ten feet. I laid 
there and rested myself as well as I could, though my 
leg pained me too much to sleep. Some time in the 
night, all at once, I heerd a sort of rustling noise at 
the end of the log where I come in. My hair stood 
right on eend. It was dark as Egypt ; I couldn't see 
the least thing, but I could hear the rustling noise 
again, and it sounded as if it was coming into the log. 
I held my breath, but I could hear something breath- 
ing heavily, and there seemed to be a sort of scratch- 
ing against the sides of the log, and it kept working 
along in towards me. I clinched my fowling-piece 
and held on to it. 'Twas well loaded with a brace of 
balls and some shot besides. But whether to fire, or 
what to do, I couldn't tell. I was sure there was some 
terrible critter in the log, and the rustling noise kept 
coming nearer and nearer to me. At last I heerd a 
low kind of a growl. I thought if I was ">nly dead 
and decently buried somewhere I should be glad ; for 
to be eat up alive there by bears, or wolves, or cata« 
mounts, I couldn't bear the idea of it. In a minute 
more something made a horrible grab at my feet, and 



THE TOUGH YAEN. . 73 

begun to naw 'em. At first I crawled a little ftirtiier 
into the tree. But the critter was hold of my feet 
again in a minute, and I found it was no use for me 
to go in any farther. I didn't hardly dare to fire ; for 
I thought if I didn't kill the critter, it would only be 
likely to make him fight the harder. And then again 
I thought if I should kill him, and he should be as 
large as I fancied him to be, I should never be able 
to shove him out of the log, nor to get out by him. 
While I was having these thoughts the old feller was 
nawing and tearing my feet so bad, I found he would 
soon kill me if I laid still. So I took my gun and 

pointed down by my feet, as near the centre of the 
holler log as I could, and let drive. The report 
almost stunned me. But when I come to my hearing 
again, I laid still and listened. Everything round 
me was still as death ; I couldn't hear the least sound. 
I crawled back a few inches towards the mouth of the 
log, and was stopt by something against my feet. I 
pushed it. 'Twould give a little, but I couldn't move 
it. I got my hand down far enough to reach, 
and felt the fur and hair and ears of some terrible 
animal. 

" That was an awful long night. And when the 
morning did come, the critter filled the holler up so 



74 'way DOWN EAST. 

mucli, there was but very little light come in where 
I was. I tried again to shove the animal towards the 
mouth of the log, but I found 'twas no use, — I couldn't 
move him. At last the light come in so much that I 
felt pretty sure it was a monstrous great bear that I 
had killed. But I begun to feel now as if I was buried 
alive ; for I was afraid our folks wouldn't find me, 
and I was sure I never could get out myself. But 
about two hours after sunrise, all at once I thought I 
heered somebody holler " Jack." I listened and I 
heered it again, and I knew 'twas father's voice. I 
answered as loud as I could holler. They kept holler- 
ing, and I kept hollering. Sometimes they would go 
further off and sometimes come nearer. My voice 
sounded so queer they couldn't tell where it come from, 
nor what to make of it. At last, by going round con- 
siderable, they found my voice seemed to be some where 
round the holler tree, and bime-by father come along 
and put his head into the holler of the tree, and called 
out, ' Jack, are you here V ' Yes I be,' says I, ^ and I 
wish you would pull this bear out, so I can get out 
myself.' When they got us out, I was about as much 
dead as alive ; but they got me on to the horse, and 
led me home and nursed me up, and had a doctor to 
set my leg again ; and it's a pretty good leg yet.' 



?> 



T a E TOUGH Y A. K N . 76 

Here, while Mr. Robinson was taking another sip 
from Ms tumbler, Major G-rant glanced at his watch, 
and, looking up to Doctor Snow, said, with a grave, 
quiet air, " Doctor, I give it up ; the bet is yours." 



X 



7Ct 'way DOWN EAST. 



CHAPTEE lY. 



CHRISTOPHER CROTCHET. 



YouK 'New England country singing-master is a 
peculiar character; wlio shall venture to describe 
him ? During his stay in a country village, he is the 
most important personage in it. The common school- 
master, to be sure, is a man of dignity and import- 
ance. Children never pass him on the road without 
turning square round, pulling off their hats, and 
making one of their best and most profound bows. 
He is looked up to with universal deference both by 
young and old, and is often invited out to tea. Or, 
if he " boards round," great is the parade, and great 
tJie preparation, by each family, when their " week 
for boarding the master" draws near. Then not 
unfrequently a well fatted porker is killed, and the 
spare-ribs are duly hung round the pantry in readi- 
ness for roasting. A half bushel of sausages are 
made up into " links," and suspended on a pole near 
the ceiling from one end of the kitchen to the other 



CHRISTOPHER CROTCHET. 77 

And tlie Saturday beforehand, if the school-master is 
to come on Monday, the work of preparation reaches 
its crisis. Then it is, that the old oven, if it be not 
" heaten seven times hotter than it is wont to be," is 
at least heated seven times; and apple-pies, and 
pnmpkin-pies, and mince-pies are turned out by 
dozens, and packed away in closet and cellar for 
the coming week. And the " fore room," which has 
not had a fire in it for the winter, is now duly washed 
and scrubbed and put to rights, and wood is heaped 
on the fire with a liberal hand, till the room itself 
becomes almost another oven. George is up betimes 
on Monday morning to go with his hand-sled and 
bring the master's trunk ; Betsey and Sally are rigged 
out in their best calico gowns, the little ones have their 
faces washed and their hair combed with more than 
ordinary care, and the mother's cap has an extra 
crimp. And all this stir and preparation for the 
common school-master. And yet he is but an every- 
day planet, that moves in a regular orbit, and comes 
round at least every winter. 

But the singing-master is your true comet. 
Appearing at no regular intervals, he comes sud- 
denly, and often unexpected. Brilliant, mysterious 
and erratic, no wonder that he attracts all eyes, and 



78 'way down EASl. 

produces a tremendous sensation. ]N"ot only tlie chil- 
dren, but the whole family^ flock to the windows 
when he passes, and a face may be seen at every pane 
of glass, eagerly peering out to catch a glimpse of 
the singing-master. Even the very dogs seem to 
partake of the awe he inspires, and bark with 
uncommon fierceness whenever they meet him. 

" O, father," said little Jimmy Brown, as he came 
running into the house on a cold December night, 
with eyes staring wide open, and panting for breath. 
" O, father, Mr. Christopher Crotchet from Quaver- 
town, is over to Mr. Gibbs' tavern, come to see about 
keeping singing-school ; and Mr. Gibbs, and a whole 
parcel more of 'em, wants you to come right over 
there, cause they're goin' to have a meeting this 
evening to see about hiring of him." 

Squire Brown and his family, all except Jimmy, 
were seated round the supper table when this inter- 
esting piece of intelligence was announced. Every 
one save Squire Brown himself, gave a sudden start, 
and at once suspended operations ; but the Squire, 
who was a very moderate man, and never did any- 
thing from impulse, ate on without turning his head, 
or changing his position. After a short pause, how- 
ever, which was a moment of intense anxiety to some» 



CHRISTOPHER OROTOHET. 79 

members of^ the family, he replied to Jimmy as 
follows : — 

" I shan't do no sich thing ; if thej want a singing • 
school, they may get it themselves. A singing-school 
won't do ns no good, and I've ways enough to spend 
my money without paying it for singing." Turning 
his head round and casting a severe look upon 
Jimmy, he proceeded with increasing energy : 

"]^ow, sir, hang your hat up and set down and 
eat your supper ; I should like to know what sent 
you off over to the tavern without leave." 

" I wanted to see the singing-master," said Jimmy. 
" Sam Gibbs said there was a singing-master over to 
their house, and so I wanted to see him." 

" Well, I'll singing-master you," said the Squire, 
"if I catch you to go off so again without leave. 
Come, don't stand there ; set down and eat your 
supper, or I'll trounce you in two minutes." 

" There, I declare," said Mrs. Brown, " I do think 
it too bad. I do wish I could live in peace one 
moment of my life. The children will be spoilt and 
ruined. They never can stir a step nor hardly 
breathe, but what they must be scolded and fretted 
to death." 

Squire Brown had been accustomed to these 



80 'WAYDOWNEAST. 

Budden squalls about twenty-five years, they Laving 
commenced some six months or so after his marriage ; 
and long experience had taught him, that the only 
way to escape with safety, was to bear away immedi- 
ately and scud before the wind. Accordmgiy he 
turned again to Jimmy, and with a much softened 
tone addressed him as follows : — - 

" Come, Jimmy, my son, set down and eat your 
supper, that's a good boy. You shouldn't go away 
without asking your mother or me ; but you'll try to 
remember next time, won't you ?" 

Jimmy and his mother were both somewhat 
soothed by this well-timed suavity, and the boy took 
his seat at the table. 

" E"ow, pa," said Miss Jerusha Brown, " you will 
go over and see about having a singing-school, won't 
you? I want to go dreadfully ?" 

"Oh, I can't do anything about that," said the 
Squii-e ; " it'll cost a good deal of money, and I can't 
afford it. And besides, there's no use at all in it. 
You can sing enough now, any of you ; you are sing- 
ing half your time." 

" There," said Mrs. Brown, " that's just the way 
Our children will never have a chance to be anything 
as long as they live. Other folks' children have a 



CHRISTOPHER CROTCHET. 81 

cliance to go to singing-schools, and to see young 
company, and to be something in the world. Here's 
our Jerusha has got to be in her twenty-fifth year 
now, and if she's e -^er going to have young company, 
and have a chance to be anything, she must have it 
soon ; for she'll be past the time bime-by for sich 
things. 'Tisn't as if we was poor and couldn't afford 
it ; for you know, Mr. Brown, you pay the largest tax 
of anybody in the town, and can afford to give the 
children a chance to be something in the world, as 
well as not. And as for living in this kind of way 
any longer, I've no notion on't." 

Mrs. Brown knew how to follow up an advantage. 
She had got her husband upon the retreat in the onset 
a moment before, in reference to Jimmy's absence, 
and the closing part of this last speech was uttered 
with an energy and determination, of which Squire 
Brown knew too well the import to disregard it. 
Perceiving that a storm was brewing that would 
burst upon his head with tremendous power, if he 
did not take care to avoid it, he finished his supper 
with all convenient despatch, rose from the table, put 
on his grea coat and hat, and marched deliberately 
over to Gibbs' tavern. Mrs. Brown knew at once 
that she had won the victory, and that they should 

4* 



82 'way down east. 

have a singmg-school The cliildren also had become 
so well versed in the sjience of ^ their mother's tactics, 
that they miderstood the same thing, and immediately 
began to discuss matters preparatory to attending the 
school. 

Miss Jernsha said she must have her new calico 
gown made right up the -next day ; and her mother 
said she should, and David might go right over after 
Betsey Davis to come to work on it the next 
morning. 

" How delightful it will be to have a singing 
school," said Miss Jerusha : " Jimmy, what sort of a 
looking man is Mr. Crotchet ?" 

" Oh, he is a slick kind of a looking man," said 
Jimmy. 

" Is he a young man, or a married man ?" inquired 
Miss Jerusha. 

" Ho ! married ? no ; I guess he isn't," said Jimmy, 
" I don't believe he's more than twenty years old." 

"Poh; I don't believe that story," said Jerusha, 
a singing-master must be as much as twenty-five 
years old, 1 know ! How is he di-essed ? Isn't he 
dressed quite genteel ?" 

" Oh, he's dressed pretty slick," said Jimmy. 

" Well, that's what makes him look so young," said 



CHKISTOPHER CROTCHET. 83 

Miss Jeruslia ; " I dare say he's as mucli as twenty- 
five years old ; don't you think he is, mother?" 

"Well, I think it's pretty likely he is," said Mrs. 
Brown ; " singing-masters are generally about that age." 

" How does he look ?" said Miss Jerusha ; " is he 
handsome ?" 

" He's handsome enough," said Jimmy, " only he's 
got a red head and freckly face." 

"Now, Jim, I don't believe a word you say. You 
are saying this, only just to plague meP 

To understand the propriety of this last remark of 
Miss Jerusha, the reader should be informed, that for 
the last ten years she had looked upon every young 
man who came into the place, as her own peculiar 
property. And in all cases, in order to obtain pos- 
session of her aforesaid property, she had adopted 
prompt measures, and pursued them with a diligence 
worthy of all praise. 

" No I ain't neither," said Jimmy, " I say he has 
got a red head and freckly face." 

*' La, well," said Mrs. Brown, " what if he has ? 
I'm sure a red head don't look bad ; and one of the 
handsomest men that ever I see, had a freckly face." 

" "Well, Jimmy, how large is he ? Is he a tall maiia 
oi a short man ?" said Miss Jerusha. 



84 'WAYDOWNEAST 

"Why, lie isn't bigger round than I be," said 
Jimmy ; " and I gness he isn't quite as tall as a ha^- 
pole ; but he's so tall he has to stoop when he goes 
into the door." 

So far from adding to the shock, which Miss Jeru- 
sha's nerves had already received froin the account of 
the red head and frecMy face, this last piece of intel- 
ligence was on the whole rather consolatory ; for she 
lacked but an inch and a half of six feet in height 
herself. 

""Well, Jimmy," said Miss Jerusha, "when he 
stands up, take him altogether, isn't he a good-looking 
young man ?" 

" I don't know anything about that," said Jimmy ; 
" he looks the most like the tongs in the riddle, of 
anything I can think of: 

* Long legs and crooked thighs, 
Little head and no eyes.' " 

" There, Jim, you little plague," said Miss Jerusha; 
" you shall go right off to bed if you don't leave off 
your nonsense. I won't hear another word of it." 

"I don't care if you won't," said Jimmy, "it's aL 
true, every word of it." 

" What ! then the singing-master hasn't got no eyes, 
has he ?" said Miss Jerusha ; " that's a pretty story." 



CHRISTOPHEK CKOTCHET. 85 

" I don't mean lie hasn't got no eyes at all," said 
Jimmy, " only his eyes are dreadful little, and you 
can't see but one of 'em to time neither, they're 
twisted round so." 

"A little cross-eyed, I s'pose," said Mi-s. Brown, 
" that's all ; I don't think that hurts the looks of a 
man a bit ; it only makes him look a little sharper." 

While those things were transpiring at Mr. Brown's, 
matters of weight and importance were being 
discussed at the tavern. About a dozen of the 
neighbors had collected theie early in the evening, 
and every one, as soon as he found that Mr. Christo- 
pher Crotchet from Quavertown was in the village, 
was for having a singing-school forthwith, cost what 
it would. Tliey accordingly proceeded at once to 
ascertain Mr. Crotchet's terms. His proposals were, 
to keep twenty evenings for twenty dollars and 
" found," or for thirty and board himself. The school 
to be kept three evenings in the week. A subscrip- 
tion-paper was opened, and the sum of fifteen dollars 
was at last made ap. But that was the extent to 
which they could go; not another dollar could be 
raised. Much anxiety was now felt for the amval of 
Squire Brown; for the question of school or no 
school depended entirely on him. 



86 'way D3WN EAST. 

"Squire Brown's got money enoiigli," said Mr. 
Gibbs, " and if lie only has the will, we shall have a 
school." 

" Not exactly," said Mr. Jones ; '' if Mrs. Brown 
has the will, we shall have a school, let the Sqnii-e's 
will be what it may." 

Before the laugh occasioned by this last remart 
had fully subsided, Squu-e Brown entered, much to 
the joy of the whole company. 

"Squire Brown, I'm glad to see you," said Mr. 
Gibbs; "shall I introdta.ce you to Mr. Christopher 
Crotchet, singing-master from Quavertown ?" 

The Squire was a very short man, somewhat 
inclined to corpulence, and Mr. Crotchet, according 
to Jimmy's account, was not quite as tall as a hay- 
pole ; so that by dint of the Squire's throwing his 
head back and looking up, and Mr. Crotchet's cant- 
mg his head on one side in order to bring one eye to 
bear on the Squire, the parties were brought within 
each other's field of vision. The Squire made a bow, 
which was done by throwing his head upward, 
and Mr. Crotchet returned the comp"iment by 
extending his aiTQ downward to the Squire and shak- 
ing hands. 

When the ceremony of introduction was over, Mr* 



CHEISTOPHEK CROTCHET. 8T 

Gibbs laid the whole matter before Mr. Brown, 
showed him the subscription-paper, and told him 
they were all depending npon him to decide whether 
they should have a singing-school or not. Squire 
Brown put on his spectacles and read the subscrip- 
tion-paper over two or three times, till he fully under- 
stood the terms, and the deficiency in the amount 
subscribed. Then without saying a word he took a 
pen and deliberately subscribed five dollars. That 
settled the business ; the desired sum was raised, and 
the school was to go al^^^p It was agreed that 
it should commence on the Tollowing evening, and 
that Mr. Crotchet should board with Mr. Gibbs one 
week, with the Squire the next, and so go round 
through the neighborhood. 

On the following day there was no small commotion 
among the young folks of the village, in making pre- 
paration for the evening school. ISTew singing-booke 
were purchased, dresses were prepared, curling-tongs 
and crimping-irons were put in requisition, and early 
in the evening the long chamber in Gibbs' tavern, 
which was called by way of eminence " the hall," 
was well filled by youth of both sexes, the old folks 
aot being allowed to attend that evening, lest the 
* boys ana gals " should be diffident about "sound 



88 'way DOWN EAST. 

ing the notes." A range of long narrow tables was 
placed round three sides of the hall, witli benches 
behind them, upon which the youth were seated. A 
singing-book and a candle were shared by two, all 
round the room, till you came to Miss Jerusha Brown, 
who had taken the uppermost seat, and monopolized 
a whole book and a whole candle to her own use. 
Betsey Buck, a lively, reckless sort of a girl of sixteen, 
who cared for nobody nor nothing in this world, but 
was full of frolic and fun, had by chance taken a seat 
next to Miss Jerush^^fcss Betsey had a slight in- 
ward turn of one eye, just enough to give her a 
roguish look, that comported well with her character.* 
"While they were waiting for the entrance of the 
master, many a suppressed laugh, and now and then 
an audible giggle, passed round the room, the mere 
ebullitions of buoyant spirits and contagious mirth, 
without aim or object. Miss Jerusha, who was try- 
ing to behave her prettiest, repeatedly chided their 
rudeness, and more than once told Miss Betsey Buck, 
that she ought to be ashamed to be laughing so much ; 
" for what would Mr. Crotchet think, if he should 
come in and find them all of a giggle ?" 

After a while the door opened, and Mr. Christo- 
pher Crotchet entered. H-^ bent his body slightly, 



OHKISTOPHEE CROTCHET. ^ 

as he passed the door, to prevent a concussion of his 
head against the lintel, and then walked very erect 
into the middle of the floor, and made a short speech 
to his class. His grotesque appearance caused a slight 
tittering round the room, and Miss Betsey was even 
guilty of an incipient audible laugh, which, however, 
she had the tact so far to turn into a cough as to save 
appearances. Still it was observed by Miss Jerusha, 
who told her again in a low whisper that she ought 
to be ashamed, and added that " Mr. Crotchet was a 
most splendid man ; a bea^iM man." 

After Mr. Crotchet had made his introductory 
speech, he proceeded to try the voices of his pupils, 
making each one alone follow him in rising and fall- 
ing the notes. He passed round without difficulty till 
he came to Miss Betsey Buck. She rather hesitated 
to let her voice be heard alone ; but the master told 
her she must sound, and holding his head down so 
close to hers that they almost met, he commenced 
pouring his faw, sole, law, into her ear. Miss Betsey 
drew back a little, but followed with a low and some- 
what tremulous voice, till she had sounded three 
or four notes^ when her risible muscles got the 
mastery, and sae burst out in an unrestrained fit of 
laughtei. 



dO 'way down east. 

The master looked confused and cross ; and Miss 
Jemsha even looked crosser than the master. She 
again reproached Miss Betsey for her rudeness, and 
told her in an emphatic whisker, which was intended 
more especially for the master's ear, " that such con- 
duct was shameful, and if she couldn't behave better 
she ought to stay at home." 

Miss Jerusha's turn to sound came next, and she 
leaned her head full half-way across the table to meet 
the master's, and sounded the notes clear through, 
three or four times over, from bottom to top and 
from top to bottom; and sounded them with a 
loudness and trength fully equal to that of the 
master. 

When the process of sounding the voices separately 
had been gone through with, they were called upon 
to sound together ; and before the close of the evening 
they were allowed to commence the notes of some 
easy tunes. It is unnecessary here to give a detailed 
account of the progress that was made, or to attempt 
to describe the jargon of strange sounds, with which 
Gibbs' hall echoed that night. Suffice it to say, that 
the proficiency of the pupils was so great, that on the 
tenth evening, or when the school was half through, 
the parents were permitted to be present, and were 



CHEISTOPHEB CROTCHET. 91 

delighted to hear their children sing Old Hundred, 
Mear, St. Martin's, N^orthfield, and Hallowell, with so 
much accuracy, that those who knew the tunes, could 
readily tell, every time, which one was being per- 
foHned. Mrs. Brown was almost in ecstasies at 
the performance, and sat the whole evening and 
looked at Jerusha, who sung with great earnestness 
and with a voice far above all the rest. Even 
Squire Brown himself was so much softened that 
evening, that his face wore a sort of smile, and he 
told his wife "he didn't grudge his 'Slvq dollars, a 
bit." 

The school went on swimmingly. Mr. Crotchet 
became the lion of the village ; and Miss Jerusha 
Brown "thought he improved upon acquaintance 
astonishingly." Great preparation was made at Squire 
Brown's for the important week of boarding the sing- 
ing-master. They outdid all the village in the quan- 
tity and variety of their eatables, and at every meal 
Miss Jerusha was particularly assiduous in placing 
all the good things in the neighborhood of Mr. Crot- 
chet's plate. In fact, so bountifully and regularly was 
Mr. Crotchet stujBPed during the week, that his lank 
form began to assume a perceptible fulness. He ev? - 
dently seemed very fond of his boarding-place, espe 



92 'WAYDOWNEAST. 

cially at meal time ; and made himself so much at 
home, that Mrs. Brown and Jerusha were in a state 
of absolute feKcity the whole week. It was true he 
spent two evenings abroad during the week, and it 
was reported that one of them was passed at Mr. 
Buck's. But Miss Jerusha would not believe a word 
of such a story. She said " there was no young folks 
at Mr. Buck's except Betsey, and she was sure Mr. 
Crotchet was a man of more sense than to spend his 
evenings with such a wild, rude thing as Betsey 
Buck." Still, however, the report gave her a little 
uneasiness ; and when it was ascertained, that dur 
ing the week on which Mr. Crotchet boarded at Mr. 
Buck's he spent every evening at home, except the 
three devoted to the singing-school, Miss Jerusha's 
uneasiness evidently increased. She resolved to make 
a desperate effort to counteract these untoward influ- 
ences, and to teach Miss Betsey Buck not to interfere 
with other folk's concerns. For this purpose she 
made a grand evening party, and invited all the young 
folks of the village, except Miss Buck, who was point- 
edly left out. The treat was elaborate for a country 
tillage, and Miss Jerusha was uncommonly assiduous 
in her attentions to Mr. Crotchet during the evenmg. 
But to her inexpressible surprise and chagrin, about 



CHRISTOPHER CROTCHET. 93 

eight o'clock, Mr. Crotcliet put on his hat and great 
coat and bade the company good night. Mrs. Brown 
looked very bine, and Miss Jernsha's nerves were in 
a state of high excitement. What conld it mean? 
She wonld give anything in the world to know where 
he had gone. She ran up into the chamber and 
looked out from the window. The night was rather 
dark, but she fancied she saw him making his way 
toward Mr. Buck's. The company for the remaindei 
of the evening had rather a dull time ; and Miss 
Jerusha passed almost a sleepless night. 

The next evening Miss Jerusha was early at the 
singing-school. She took her seat with a disconsolate 
air, opened her singing-book and commenced singing 
Hallowell in the following words : 

" As on some lonely building's top, 
The sparrow tells her moan, 
Far from the tents of joy aiuf hope, 
I sit and grieve alone." 

On former occasions, when the scholars were 
singing before school commenced, the moment the 
master opened the door they broke off short, even if 
they were in the midst of a tune. But now, when 
the master entered. Miss Jerusha kept on singing. 
She went through the whole tune after Mr. Orotcheif 



94: 'way r>OWN EAST. 

came in, and went back and repeated the latter half 
of it with a loud and full voice, which caused a laugh 
among the scholars, and divers streaks of red to pass 
over the master's face. 

At the close of the evening's exercises Miss Jeru- 
sha hurried on her shawl and bonnet, and watched 
the movements of the master. She perceived he 
went out directly after Betsey Buck, and she hastened 
after them with becoming speed. She contrived to 
get between Miss Buck and the master as they 
walked along the road, and kept Mr. Crotchet in close 
conversation with her, or rather kept herself in close 
conversation with Mr. Crotchet, till they came to the 
corner that turned down to Mr. Buck's house. Here 
Mr. Crotchet left her somewhat abruptly, and walked 
by the side of Miss Betsey towai'ds Mr. Buck's. 
This was more than Miss Jerusha's u^^ives could well 
bear. She was under too much excitement to pro- 
ceed on her way home. She stopped and gazed after 
the couple as they receded from her ; and as their 
forms became indlstirict in the darkness of the night, 
she turned and followed them, just keeping them in 
view till they reached the house. The door opened, 
and to her inexpressible horror, they both went in. 
It was pas* ten o'clock, too ! She was greatly 



CHKISTOPHER CROTCHET. 95 

puzzled. The affair was entirely inexplicable to her. 
It could not be, however, that he would stop many 
minutes, and she waited to see the result. Presently 
a light appeared in the " fore-room ;" and from the 
mellowness of that light, a fire was evidently kindled 
there. Miss Jerusha approached the house and 
reconnoitred. She tried to look in at the window, 
but a thick curtain effectually prevented her from 
seeing anything within. The curtain did not reach 
quite to the top of the window, and she thought she 
saw the shadows of two persons before the fire, 
thrown against the ceiling. She was determined by 
some means or other to know the worst of it. She 
looked round the door-yard and found a long piece of 
board. She thought by placing this against the house 
by the side of the window, she might be able to 
climb up and look over the top of the curtain. The 
board was accordingly raised on one end and placed 
carefully by the side of the window, and Miss Jeru- 
sha eagerly commenced the task of climbing. She 
had reached the top of the curtain and cast one 
glance into the room, where, sure enough, she beheld 
Mr. Crotchet seated close by the side of Miss Betsey. 
At this interesting moment, from some cause or other, 
either from her own trembling, for she was exceed^ 



96 'WAYDOWNEAST. 

mglj agitated, or from the board not being properly 
supported at the bottom, it slipped and canted, and in 
an instant one half of the window was dashed with a 
tremendous crash into the room. 

Miss Jerusha fell to the ground, but not being 
much injured by the fall, she sprang to her feet and 
ran with the fleetness of a wild deer. The door 
opened, aad out came Mr. Crotchet and Mr. Buck, 
and started in the race. They thought they had a 
glimpse of some person running up the road when 
they first came out, and Mr. Crotchet's long legs 
measured off the ground with remarkable velocity. 
But the fright had added so essentially to Miss Jeru- 
sha's powers of locomotion, that not even Mr. 
Crotchet could overtake her, and her pursuers soon 
lost sight of her in the darkness of the night, and 
gave up the chase and returned home. 

Miss Jerusha was not seen at the singing-school 
after this, and Mrs. Brown said she stayed at home 
because she had a cough, l^otwithstanding there 
were many rumors and surmises afloat, and some 
slanderous insinuations thrown out against Miss Jeru- 
sha Brown, yet it was never ascertained by the 
neighbors, for a certainty, who it was that demolished 
Mr Buck's window. 



CHEISTOPHER CKOTaFET. ^f 

One item farther remains to be added to tliis 
veritable history ; and that is, that in three months 
from this memorable night, Miss Betsey Buck became 
Mrs. Crotchet of Quavertown. 



dl8 'WAYD()WNE(18T 



CHAPTEE V. 

POLLY GRAY AND THE DOCTORS. 

It was a dark, and rainy night in June, when Deacon 
Gray, about ten o'clock in the evening, drove his 
horse and wagon up to the door, on his return from 
market. 

"Oh dear, Mr. Gray!" exclaimed his wife, as she 
met him at the door, " I'm dreadful glad you've come ; 
Polly's so sick, I'm afraid she won't live till mornin', 
if something ain't done for her." 

" Polly is always ailing," said the deacon, deliber- 
ately ; " I guess it's only some of her old aches and 
pains. Just take this box of sugar in ; it has been 
raining on it this hour." 

" Well, do come right in, Mr. Gray, for you don't 
know what a desput case she is in ; I daren't leave her 
a minute." 

" You are always scared half to death," said the 
deacon, " if anything ails Polly ; but you know she 
always gets over it again. Here's coffee and tea and 



POLLY GKAT AND THE DOCTORS. 99 

some other notions rolled up in this bag," handing her 
another bundle to carry into the house. 

" Well, but Mr. Gray, don't pray stop for bundles 
or nothin' else. You must go right over after Doctor 
Longley, and get him here as quick as you can." 

" Oh, if it's only Doctor Longley she wants," said 
the deacon carelessly^ " I guess she aint so dangerous, 
after all." 

" E'ow, Mr. Gray, jest because Doctor Longley is a 
young man and about Polly's age, that you should 
make such an unfeelin' expression as that, I think is 
too bad." 

The deacon turned away without making a reply, 
and began to move the harness from the horse. 

" Mr. Gray, ain't you going after the doctor ?" said 
Mrs. Gray, with increasing impatience. 

" I'm going to turn the horse into the pasture, and 
tlien I'll come in and see about it," said the deacon. 

A loud groan from Polly drew Mrs. Gray hastily 
into the house. The deacon led his horse a quarter 
of a rnile to the pasture ; let down the bars and turn- 
ed him in ; put all the bars carefully up ; hur ted 
round and found a stick to drive in as a wedge to 
fasten the top bar ; went round the barn to see that 
tihe doors were all closed ; got an armful of dry straw 

Lore. 



100 'way down east, 

and threw it into the pig-pen ; called the dog from his 
kennel, patted him on his head, and went into the 
house. 

" I'm afraid she's dying," said Mrs. Graj, as the 
deacon entered. 

" You are always scared half out of your wits," said 
the deacon, "if there's anything the matter. I'll 
come in as soon as I've took off my coat and boots 
and put on sonie dry ones." 

Mrs. Gray ran back to attend upon Polly ; but be- 
fore the deacon had got ready to enter the room, Mrs. 
Gray screamed again with the whole strength of her 
lungs. 

" Mr. Gray, Mr. Gray, do make haste, she's m a fit.'' 

This was the first sound that had given the deacon 
any uneasiness about the matter. He had been ac- 
customed for years to hear liis wife worry about 
Polly, and had heard her predict her death so often 
from very slight illness, that he had come to regard 
such scenes and such predictions with as little atten- 
tion as he did the rain that pattered against the win- 
dow. But the word fit was something he had never 
heard applied in these cases before, and the sound of 
it gave him a strange feeling of apprehension. He 
had just thrown off Ids boots and put his feet into drT 



POLLY GKAY AND THE DOCTORS. 101 

shoes, and held a dry coat in his hand, when this last 
appeal came to his ear and caused him actually to 
hasten into the room. 

" Polly, what's the matter now ?" said the deacon, 
beginning to be somewhat agitated, as he approached 
the bedside. 

Polly was in violent spasms, and heeded not the 
inquiry. The deacon took hold of her arm, and 
repeated the question more earnestly and in a tender 
tone. 

" You may as well speak to the dead," said Mrs. 
Gray ; " she's past hearing or speaking." 

The deacon's eyes looked wild, and his face grew 
very long. 

" Why didn't you tell me how sick she was when I 
first got home?" said the deacon with a look of 
rebuke. 

" I did tell you when you first come," said Mrs. 
Gray, sharply, "and you didn't take no notice on 
it." 

" You didn't tell me anything about how sick she 
was," said the deacon ; " you only spoke jest as you 
used to, when sne wasn't hardly sick at all." 

The subject here seemed to subside by mutual 
consent, and both stood with their eyes fixed upon 



102 'way down east. 

PoUj, who was apparently struggling in the fierce 
agonies of death. In a few minutes, however, she 
came out of the spasm, breathed comparatively easy, 
and lay perfectly quiet. The deacon spoke to her 
again. She looked up with a wild delirious look, but 
made no answer. 

" I'll go for the doctor," said the deacon, " It may 
be he can do something for her, though she looks to 
me as though it was gone goose with her." 

Saying this, he put on his hat and coat and started. 
Having half a mile to go, and finding the doctor in 
bed, it was half an hour before he returned with Doc- 
tor Longley in his company. In the meantime Mrs. 
Gray had called in old Mrs. Livermore, who lived 
next door, and they had lifted Polly up and put a 
clean pillow upon the bed, and a clean cap on her 
head, and had been round and " slicked up " the 
room a little, for Mrs. Livermore said, " Doctor Long- 
ley was such a nice man she always loved to see 
things look tidy where he was coming to." 

Tlie deacon came in and hung his hat up behind 
the door, and Doctor Longley followed with his hat 
in his hand and a small pair of saddle-bags on his 
arm. Mrs. Gray stood at one side of the bed, and 
Mi's. Livermore at the other, and the doctor laid 



POLLY GRAY AND THE DOCTORS. 103 

his hat and saddle-bags on the table that stood by 
the window, and stepped immediately to the bed- 
side. 

"Miss Grray, are you sick?" said the doctor, 
taldng the hand of the patient. 

IN'o answer or look from the patient gave any 
indication that she heard the question. 

" How long has she been ill ?" said the doctor. 

" Ever since mornin'," said Mrs. Gray. " She got 
up with a head-ache, jest after her father went away 
to market, and smart pains inside, and she's been 
growing worse all day." 

" And what have you given her ?" said the doctor. 

" ;N"othing, but arb-drink," said Mrs. Gray ; " when- 
ever she felt worse, I made her take a good deal of 
arb-drink, because that, you know, is always good, 
doctor. And besides, when it can't do no good, it 
would do no hurt." 

"But what sort of drinks have you given her?" 
said the doctor. 

"Well, I give her most all sorts, for we had a 
plent;55 of 'em in the house," said Mrs. Gray. " I 
give her sage, and peppermint, and sparemint, and 
cammermile, and pennyryal, and motherwort, and 
balm ; you know, balm is very coolin', doctor, and 



104 'way down east. 

sometimes she'd be very hot, and then I'd make her 
drink a good dose of balm." 

" Give me a candle," said the doctor. 

The deacon brought a candle and held it over the 
patient's head. The doctor opened her month and 
examined it carefully for the space of a minnte. He 
felt her pulse another minute, and looked again into 
her mouth. 

" Low pulse, but heavy and labored respiration," 
said the doctor. 

" What do you think ails her ?" said Mrs. Gray. 

The doctor shook his head. 

" Do you think you can give her anything to helf 
her ?" said the deacon, anxiously. 

The doctor looked very grave, and fixed his eyer 
thoughtfully on the patient for a minute, but made nc 
reply to the deacon's question. 

" Why didn't you send for me sooner ?" at last said 
the doctor, turning to Mrs. Gray. 

" Because I thought my arb-drink would help her, 
and so I kept trying it all day till it got to be dark, 
and then she got to be so bad I didn't dare to Jeave 
her till Mr. Gray got home." 

" It's a great pity," said the doctor, turning from 
the bed to the table and opening his saddle-bags 



POLLY GRAY AND THE DOCTORS. 105 

" Tliousands and thousands of lives are lost only by 
delaying to send for medical advice till it is too late ^ 
tliousands that might have been saved as well as not, 
if only taken in season.'' 

'* But doctor, you don't think it's too late for Polly, 
do you ?" said Mrs. Gray. 

• " I think her case, to say the least, is extremely 
doubtful," said the doctor. " Her appearance is very 
remarkable. Whatever her disease is, it has made 
such progress, and life is so nearly extinct, that it is 
impossible to tell what were the original symptoms, 
and consequently what applications are best to be 
made." 

" Well, now, doctor," said Mrs. Livermore, " excuse 
me for speakin' ; but I'm a good deal older than you 
are, and have seen a great deal of sickness in my 
day, and I've been in here with Polly a number of 
times to-day, and sometimes this evening, and I'm 
satisfied, doctor, there's sometliirg the matter of her 
jnsides." 

" Undoubtedly," said the doctor, looking very 
grave. 

This new hint from Mrs. Livermore seemed to 

give Mrs. Gray new hope, and she appealed agair to 

the doctor. 

5* 



106 'way down eabt. 

' W^ell, now, doctor," said she, " don't you ihuik 
Mi's. Liverniore has the right of it'i^" 

" Most unquestionably," said the doctor. 

" Well, then, doctor, if you should give hex* some- 
thing that's pretty powerful to operate inwardly, 
don't you think it might help her ?" 

" It might, and it might not," said the doctor ; 
" the powers of life are so nearly exliausted, 1 must 
tell you frankly I have very little hope of being 
able to rally them. There is not life enough left to 
indicate the disease or show the remedies that are 
wanted. Applications now must be made entirely 
in the dark, and leave the effect to chance." 

At this, Mrs. Livermore took the candle and was 
proceeding to remove it from the room, when the 
doctor, perceiving her mistake, called her back. 
He did not mean to administer the medicine literally 
in a dark room, but simply in a state of darkness and 
ignorance as to the nature of the disease. It was a 
very strange case : it was certain life could hold oxit 
but a short time longer ; he felt bound to do some- 
thing, and therefore proceeded to prepare such appli- 
cations and remedies as his best judgment dictated. 
These were administered without confidence, and 
their effect awaited with painful solicitude. They 



FOLLY URAY AND THE DOCTOKS. 107 

either produced no perceptible effect at all, or very 
different from the ordinary results of such applica- 
tions. 

" I should like," said Doctor Longley to the deacon, 
" to have you call in Doctor Stubbs ; this is a very 
extraordinary case, and I should prefer that some 
other medical practitioner might be present." 

The deacon accordingly hastened to call Doctor 
Stubbs, a young man who had come into the place a 
a short time before, with a high reputation, but not a 
favorite with the deacon and his family, on account of 
his being rather fresh from college, and full of modern 
innovations. 

After Doctor Stubbs had examined the patient, and 
made various inquiries of the family, he and Doctor 
Longley held a brifef consultation. Their united wis- 
dom, however, was not sufficient to throw any light 
upon the case or to afford any relief. 

"Have you thought of poison?" said Doctor 
Longley. 

" Yes," said Doctor Stubbs, " but there are certam 
indications in the case, which forbid that altogether. 
Indeed, I can form no satisfactory opinion about it ; 
it is the most anomalous case I ever knew." 

Before their conference was brought to a close, the 



108 'way down east. 

deacon called them, saying lie believed Polly was a 
going. They came into the room and hastened to 
the bedside. 

" Yes," said Doctor Stnbbs, looking at the patient, 
" those are dying struggles ; in a short time all her 
troubles in this life wixl be over." 

The patient sunk gradually and quietly away, and 
in the course of two hours after the arrival of Doctor 
Stubbs, all signs of life were gone. 

" The Lord's will be done," said the deacon, as he 
stood by the bed and saw her chest heave for the last 
time. 

Mrs. Gray sat in the corner of the room wit% her 
apron to her face weeping aloud. Old Mrs. Liver- 
more and two other females, who had been called in 
during the night, were already busily employed in 
preparing for laying out the corpse. 

It was about daybreak when the two doctors left 
the house and started for home. 

" Yery singular case," said Doctor Stubbs, who 
spoke with more ease and freedom, now that they 
were out of the way of the afflicted family. " We 
ought not to give it up so, Doctor ; we ought to follow 
this case up till we ascertain what was the cause of 
aer death. What say to a post mortem examination ? "' 



POLLY GRAY AND THE DOCTORS. 109 

"I always dislike tliem," said Doctor Longley 
" they are ugly uncomfortable jobs ; and besides, ] 
doubt whether the deacon's folks would consent to it." 

" It is important for us, as well as for the cause of 
the science,'" s^id Doctor Stubbs, " that something 
should be done about it. We are both young, and it 
liiay have an injurious bearing upon our reputation 
if we are not able to give any explanation of the case. 
I consider my reputation at stake as well as yours, as 
I was called in for consultation. Tliere will doubt- 
less be an hundred rumors afloat, and the older phy- 
sicians, who look upon us, you know, with rather an 
evil eye, will be pretty sure to lay hold of the matter 
and turn it greatly to our disadvantage, if we cannot 
show facts for our vindication. The deacon's folks 
must consent, and you had better go down after break- 
fast and have a talk with the deacon about it." 

Doctor Longley felt the force of the reasoning, and 
consented to go. Accordingly, after breakfast, he 
returned to Deacon Gray's, and kindly offered his 
services, if there was any assistance he could rendei 
in making preparations for the funeral. The deacon 
felt much obliged to him, but didn't know as there 
was anything for which they particularly needed his 
assistance. The doctor then broached the subject of 



110 'way down east. 

the very sudden and singular death of Polly, and icv^ 
important it was for the living that the causes of such 
a sudden death should, if possible, be ascertained, and 
delicately hinted that the only means of obtaining 

this information, so desirable for the benefit of the 
science and so valuable for all living, was by open- 
ing and examining the body after death. y^ 

At this the deacon looked up at him with such an 
awful expression of holy horror, that the doctor saw 
at once it would be altogether useless to pursue the 
subject further. Accordingly, after advising, on 
account of the warm weather and the patient dying 
suddenly and in full blood, not to postpone the funeral 
later "-.han that afternoon, the doctor took his leave. 

" Well, what is the result ?" said Doctor Stubbs, as 
Doctor Longley entered his door. 

" Oh, as I expected," said Doctor Longley. " The 
moment I hinted at the subject to the deacon, I saw 
by his looks, if it were to save his own life and the 
lives of all his friends, he never would consent to it." 

" Well, 'tis astonishing," said Doctor Stubbs, " that 
people who have common sense should have so little 
Bense on a subject of this kind. I won't be baffled so, 
Doctor Longley; I'U tell you what I'll do. What 
time is she to be buried ?" 



POLLY GRAY AND THE DOCTORS. 11^ 

" Tliis afternoon," said Doctor Longley. 

*' In tlie burying-grouncl by the old meeting-house 
up the road, I suppose," said Doctor Stubbs. 

" Yes, undoubtedly," replied Dr. Longley. 

" Well, I'll have that corpse taken up this night, 
and you may dejDend upon it," said Doctor Stubbs, 
" PU not only ascertain the cause of her death, but I 
want a subject for dissection, and she, having died so 
suddenly, will make an excellent one." 

Doctor Longley shuddered a little at the bold pro- 
ject of Doctor Stubbs. " You know. Doctor, there is 
a law against it," said he, " and besides, the burying- 
ground is in such a lonely place and surrounded by 
woods, I don't believe you can find anybody with 
nerve enough to go there and take up a newly buried 
corpse in the night." 

" Let me alone for that," said Doctor Stubbs. " I 
know a chap that would do it every night in the week 
if I wanted him to ; a friend of mine down there in 
the college, in the senior class. He has nerve enough 
to go anywhere, and is up to a job of this kind at any 
time. The business is all arranged, Doctor, and I shaL 
go through with it. Joe Palmer is the man for it, and 
Eufus Barnes will go with him. I'd go myself, but 
it would be more prudent for me to be at home, for in 



112 'WAI DOWN EAST. 

case of accident, and the thing should be discovered, 
suspicion would be likelj to fall on me, and it would 
be important for me to be able to prove where I was. 
Kufus must go to the funeral and see whereabouts the 
corpse is buried, so he can find the place in a dark 
night, and I shall have to go down to the college the 
first of the evening after Joe myself, and get him 
started, and then come right home, and stay at home, 
50 that I can prove an alibi in case of any questions. 
Don't I understand it. Doctor ?" 

" Yes, full well enough," said Doctor Longley,^ 
" but I had rather you would be in the scrape than I 
should." 

That evening, half an hour after dark, there was a 
light rap at Joe Palmer's door in the third story of 
one of the college buildings. The door was partly 
open, and Joe said " Come in." 'No one entered, but 
in a few moments the rap was heard again. " Come 
in," said Joe. Still no one entered. Presently a 
figure, concealed under a cloak and with muffled face, 
appeared partly before the door, and said something 
in a low voice. Joe looked wild and agitated. Some 
college scrape, he thought, but what was the nature of 
it he could not divine. Tlie figure looked mysterious. 
Presently the voice was heard again, and understood 



POLLY GRAY AND T II K DOCTORS. 113 

to utter the word Palmer. Joe was still more agitated, 
and looked at his chum most inquiringly. His chum 
stepped to the door and asked what was wanting. 
The figure drew back into the darkness of the hall, 
and answered in a faint voice, that he wanted Palmer. 
At last Palmer screwed his resolution up to the stick- 
ing point and ventured as far as the door, while his 
chum stepped back into the room. The figure again 
came forward and whispered to Palmer to come out, 
for he wanted to speak with him. 

" But who are you ?" said Palmer. 

The figure partially uncovered his face, and 
whispered " Doctor Stubbs." 

Palmer at once recognized him, and stepped back 
as bold as a lion, and took his hat and went out. In 
a few minutes he returned and told his chum, with 
rather a mysterious air, that he was going out with a 
friend to be gone two or three hours, that he need not 
feel uneasy about tim, and might leave the dooi 
unfastened for him till he returned. 

Doctor Stubbs, having given Joe and Pufus full 
directions how to proceed, telling them to get a 
large wide chaise, so that they could manage to carry 
the corpse conveniently, and informing them where 
they could find spades and shovels deposited by the 



114 'way eown east. 

side of the road for the purpose, left them and has- 
tened home. 

" Well now, Rnfe," said Joe, " we'll just go over 
to Jake Rider's and get one of his horses and chaise. 
But we needn't be in a hurry, for we don't want to 
get there much before midnight ; and we'll go into 
the store here and get a di-ink of brandy to begin 
with, for this kind of business needs a Mttle stimulus." 

Having braced their nerves with a drink of brandy, 
they proceeded to Jacob Eider's. 

" Jake, give us a horse and chaise to take a ride 
three or four houi-s," said Joe. You needn't mind 
setting up for us ; we'll put the horse up when we 
come back, and take good care of him ; we know 
where to put him. We don't want a nag; an old 
steady horse that will give us an easy, pleasant ride." 

" Old Tom is jest the horse you want," said Jacob. 
" and there's a good easy going chaise." 

" That chaise isn't wide enough," said Joe ; " give 
us the widest one you've got." 

" But that's plenty wide enough for two to ride 
m," said Jacob ; " I don't see what you want a widei 
chaise than that for." 

" Oh, I like to have plenty of elbow room," said 
Ice. 



POLLY GRAY AND THE DOCTORS. 115 

"Maybe you are going to have a lady to ride 
with you," said Jacob. 

Joe laughed, and whispered to Rufus mat Jake 
had hit nearer the mark than he was aware of. 

Jacob selected another chaise. "There is one," 
said he " wide enough for three to ride in, and even 
four upon a pinch." 

" That'll do," said Joe ; "now put in old Tom." 

The horse was soon harnessed, and Joe and Kufus 
jumped into the chaise and drove off. 

" Confound these college chaps," said Jacob to 
himself as they drove out of the yard ; " they are 
always a sky-larkin' somewhere or other. There's 
one thing in it, though, they pay me well for my 
horses. But these two fellows wanting such a 
broad chaise ; they are going to have a real frolic 
somewhere to night. I've a plaguy good mind to 
jump on to one of the horses and follow, and see 
what sort of snuff they are up to. It's so dark I 
could do it just as well as not, without the least 
danger of their seeing me." 

^o sooner thought than done. Jake at once 
mounted one of his horses, and followed the chaise. 
There was no moon, and the night was cloudy and 
dark ; but a slight rattle in one of the wheels of the 



116 'way down east. 

chaise enabled him easily to follow it, though 
entirely out of sight. Having gone abont two miles 
the chaise stopped at the corner, about a hundred 
rods from the house of Dr. Stubbs. Jake got off 
and hitched his horse, and crept carefully along by 
the side of the fence to see what was done there. 
By stooping down and looking up against a clear 
patch of sky, he could see one of the two leave the 
chaise and go to the fence by the side of the road, 
and return again, carrying something in his arms to 
the chaise. He repeated this operation twice ; but 
what he carried Jake could not discern. Perhaps 
it might be some baskets of refreshments. They 
were going off to some house to have a frolic. The 
chaLse moved on again, and Jake mounted his horse 
and followed. They went up the road till they 
came to the old meeting-house ; they passed it a 
little, and came against the old burying-ground. 
The chaise stopped and Jake stopped. The chaise 
stood still for the space of about five minutes, and 
there was not the least sound to be heard in any 
direction. At last, from the little rattle of the chaise 
wheel, he perceived they were moving at a moderate 
walk. They came to the corner of the burying- 
gi'ound, and turned a little out of the road and 



POLLY GRAY AND THE DOOTOKS. 117 

Stopped the chaise under the shadow of a large 
spreading tree, where it could not be perceived by 
any one passing in the road, even should the clouds 
brush away and leave it starlight. 

" It is very odd," thought Jake, " that they should 
stop at such a place as this in a dark night ; the last 
place in the world I should think of stopping at." 

Jake dismounted and hitched his horse a little dis- 
tance, and crept carefully up to watch their move- 
ments. They took something out of the chaise, 
passed along by the fence, went through the little 
gate, and entered the burying-ground. Here a new 
liglit seemed to flash upon Jake's mind. ^ 

" I hope no murder has been committed," thought 
he to himself; "but it's pretty clear something is to 
be buried here to-night that the world must know 
nothing about." 

Jake was perplexed, and in doubt as to what he 
should do. He had some conscience, and felt as 
though he ought to investigate the matter, and put a 
stop to the business if anything very wicked was 
going on. But then there were other considerations 
that weio-hed on the other side. If murder had been 
committed, it was within the range of possibility, and 
not Yerj unreasonable to suppose, that murder might 



118 'way down east. 

be committed again to conceal it. There were two 
of them, and he was alone. It might not be entirely 
safe for him to interfere. He would hardlj care to 
be thrown into a grave and bm-ied there that mght. 
And then, again, Jake was avaricious, and wouldn't 
care to break friends with those college fellows, foi 
they paid him a good deal of money. On the whole, 
he was resolved to keep quiet and see the end of the 
matter. 

Joe and Rufus walked two-thirds of the way- 
across the burying-ground and stopped. Jake fol- 
lowed at a careful distance, and when he found they 
hM stopped, he crept slowly up on the darkest side, 
so near that, partly by sight and partly by sound, he 
could discover what took place. There was not a 
loud word spoken, though he occasionally heard them 
whisper to each other. Then he heard the sound of 
shovels and the moving of the gravel. 

" It is true," said Jake to himself, " they are dig 
ging a grave !" and the cold sweat started on his fore 
head. Still he resolved to be quiet and see it all 
through. Once or twice they stopped and seemed tc 
be listening, as though they thought they heard some 
noise. Then he could hear them whisper to each 
other, but could not imderstand what they said. After 



POLLY GRAY AND THE DOCTOKS. 119 

thay had been digging and thi'owing out gravel some 
time, he heard a sound like the light knock of a shovel 
upon the lid of a coflGln. 

"Take care," said Joe, in a very loud whisper, 
"it'll never do to make such a noise as that; it 
could be heard almost half a mile ; do be more care- 
ftO." 

Again they pursued their work, and occasionally a 
hollow sound like a shovel scraping over a coffin was 
heard. At length their work of throwing out gravel 
seemed to be completed ; and then there was a pause 
for some time, inten-upted occasionally by sounds of 
screwing, and wedging, and wrenching ; and at last 
they seemed to be lifting some heavy substance out 
of the grave. They carried it toward the gate. Jake 
was lying almost upon the ground, and as they passed 
near him, he could perceive they were carrying some 
white object about the length and size of a corpse. 
They went out at the gate and round to the chaise ; 
and presently they returned again, and appeared by 
their motions and the sound to be filling up the grave. 
Jake took this opportunity to go and examine the 
chaise ; and sure enough he found there a full-sized 
corpse, wrapped in a white sheet, lying in the centre 
of the chaise, the feet resting on the floor, the body 



120 'wAT DOWN EAST. 

leaning across the seat, ana the head resting against 
the centre of the back part of the chaise. 

^' Only some scrape of the doctor's after all," said 
Jake to himself, who now began to breathe somewhat 
easier than he had done for some time past. " But 
it's rather shameful business, though; this must be 
Deacon Gray's daughter, I'm sure ; and it^s a shame 
to treat the old man in this shabby kind of way. I'll 
put a stop to this, anyhow. Polly Gray was too good 
a sort of a gal to be chopped up like a quarter of beef, 
according to my way of thinking, and it shan't be." 

Jake then lifted the corpse out of the chaise, car- 
ried it a few rods farther from the road, laid it down, 
took off the winding-sheet, wrapped it carefully round 
himself, went back and got into the chaise, and placed 
himself exactly in the position in which ther corpse 
had been left. He had remained in that situation but 
a short time before Joe and Rufus, having filled up 
the grave and made all right there, came and seated 
themselves in the chaise, one on each side of the 
corpse, and drove slowly and quietly off. 

" I'm glad it's over," said Rufus, fetching a long 
breath. " My heart 's been in my mouth the whole 
time. I thought I heard somebody coming half a 
dozen times ; and then it's such a dismal gloomy place 



P®LLT GTS, AY AND THE DOCTORS. 121 

too. You would n't catch me there again, in such a 
scrape, I can tell you.." 

'^ Well, I was calm as clock-work the whole time," 
said Joe. " You should have such pluck as I've got, 
Rufe ; nothing ever frightens me." 

At that moment the chaise wheel struck a stone, 
and caused the corpse to roll suddenly against Joe. 
He clapped up his hand to push it a little back, and 
instead of a cold clammy coi-pse, he felt his hand 
pressed against a warm face of live flesh. As quick 
as though he had been struck by lightning, Joe 
dropped the reins, and with one bound sprang a rod 
from the chaise and ran for his life. Rufus, without 
knowing the cause of this strange and sudden move- 
ment, sprang from the other side with almost equal 
agility, and followed Joe with his utmost speed. They 
scarcely stopped to take breath till they had run two 
miles and got into Joe's room at the college, and shut 
the door and locked themselves in. Here, having 
sworn Joe's chum to secresy, they began to discuss 
the matter. But concerning the very strange warmth 
of the corpse they could come to no satisfactory con- 
clusion. Whether it could be, that they had not 
actually taken up the corpse from the grave, but 

before they had got down to it some evil spirit bad 

6 



122 'way down east. 

come in the shape of the corpse and deceived them, 
or whether it was actually the corpse, and it had come 
to life, or whether it was the ghost of Polly Gray, 
were questions they could not decide. They agreed, 
however, to go the next morning by sunrise on to the 
ground, and see what discoveries they could make. 

When Jacob Eider found himself alone in the 
chaise, being convinced that Joe and Rufus would 
jiot come back to trouble him that night, he turned 
about and drove back to the burying-ground. 

" ITow," said Jake, " I think the best thing I can 
do, for all concerned, is to put Polly Gray back 
where she belongs, and there let her rest." 

Accordingly Jake went to work and opened the 
grave again, carried the corpse and replaced it as 
well as he could, and filled up the grave and rounded 
it off in good order. He then took his horse and 
chaise and returned home, well satisfied with his 
night's work. 

The next morning, some time before sunrise, and 
before any one was stirring in the neighborhood, 
Joe and Kufus were at the old burying-ground. 
They went round the inclosure, went to the tree 
where they had fastened their horse, and looked on 
every side, but discovered nothing. Tliey went 



POLLY GRAY AND THE DOCIOES. 123 

through the gate, and across to the grave where 
thej had been the night before. The grave looked 
all right, as though it had not been touched since 
the funeral. They could see nothing of the horse 
or chaise, and they concluded if the corpse or evil 
spii-it, or whatever it was in the chaise, had left the 
horse to himself, he probably found his way directly 
home. They thought it best therefore immediately 
to go and see Jake, and make some kind of an 
explanation. So they went over immediately to 
Jake's stable, and found the horse safe in his stall. 
Presently Jake made his appearance. 

"Well, your confounded old horse," said Joe, 
" would n't stay hitched last night. He left us in the 
lurch, and we had to come home afoot. I see he's 
come home, though. Chaise all right, I hope ?" 

" Yes, all right," said Jake. 

" Well, how much for the ride," said Joe, " seeing 
we did n't ride but one way?" 

" Seeing you rode jpourt way back," said Jake, " I 
shall charge you fifty dollars." 

Joe started and looked roimd, but a knowing leer 
in Jake's eye convinced him it was no joke. He 
handed Jake the fifty dollars, at the same time 
placing his finger emphatically across his lips *. and 



124 'way down east. -^ 

Jake took the fifty dollars, whispering in Joe's ear, 
" dead folks tell no tales." Jake then put his finger 
across his lips, and Joe and Rufas bade him good 
morning. 



JERRY GUTTRIDGE. 125 



CHAPTER YI. 

cERRY GTJTTRIDGE. 

Oh, for " the good old days of Adam and Eve I" 
when vagabond idlers were not ; or the good old days 
of the pilgrim fathers of New England, when they 
were suitably rewarded ! That idlers conld not bide 
those days, there is extant the following testimony. 
In the early court records of that portion of the old 
Bay State called the District of Maine, in the year 
1656, we have the following entry of a presentment 
by a grand jury : — 

" We present Jerry Gnttridge for an idle person, 
and not providing for his family, and for giving 
reproachful language to Mr. 'Nat Frier, when he 
reproved him for his idleness. 

" The Court, for his offence, adjudges the delinquent 
to have twenty lashes on his back, and to bring secu- 
rity to the Court to be of better behavior in providing 
for his family." — [A True Extract from the C(ywfi 
Record^.\ 



126 'way down east. 

The whole history of this affair, thus faintly sha- 
dowed forth in these few lines, has recently come to 
light, and is now published for the benefit of the 
world, as hereafter followeth. 



" What shall we have for dinner, Mr. Guttridge ?" 
said the wife of Jerry Guttridge, in a sad, desponding 
tone, as her husband came into their log hovel, from 
a neighboring grog-shop, about twelve o'clock on a 
hot July day. 

" Oh, pick up something," said Jerry, " and I wish 
you would be spry and get it ready, for I'm hungry 
now, and I want to go back to the shop ; for Sam Wil- 
lard and Seth Harmon are coming over, by an' by, to 
swop horses, and they'll want me to ride 'em. Come, 
stir around ; I can't wait." 

"We have n't got anything at all in the house to 
eat," said Mrs. Guttridge. " What shall I get ?" 

"Well, cook something," said Jerry; "no matter 
what it is." 

" But, Mr. Guttridge, we have n't got the least thing 
in the house to cook." 

" Well, well, jpick 'wp something^'* said Jerry, rather 
snappishly, " for I'm in a hurr«ar " 



JERKY GUTTRIDGE. 12? 

"I can't make victuals out of nothing," said the 
wife ; " if you'll only bring me anything in the world 
into the house to cook, I'll cook it. But I tell you we 
have n't got a mouthful of meat in the house, nor a 
mouthful of bread, nor a speck of meal ; and the last 
potatoes we had in the house, we ate for breakfast ; 
and you know we didn't have more than half enough 
for breakfast, neither." 

"Well, what have you been doing all this fore- 
noon," said Jerry, " that you have n't picked up some- 
thing ? "Why did n't you go over to Mr. Whitman's 
and borrow some meal ?" 

" Because," said Mrs. Guttridge, " we've borrowed 
meal there three times that is n't returned yet ; and I 
was ashamed to go again till that was paid. And 
beside, the baby's cried so, I've had to 'tend him the 
whole forenoon, and could n't go out." 

" Then you a'n't a-goin' to give us any dinner, are 
you ?" said Jerry, with a reproachful tone and look. 
"I pity the man that has a helpless, shiftless wife ; he 
has a hard row to hoe. What's become of that fish I 
brought in yesterday ?" 

"Why, Mr. Guttridge," said his wife, with tears in 
her eyes, " you and the children ate that fish for your 
supper last night. I never tasted a morsel of it, and 



128 ^WAT DOWN EAST. 

have n't tasted anything but potatoe sthese two days ; 
and I'm so faint now I can hardly stand." 

"Always a-grumblin'," said Jerry; "I can't never 
come into the house but what I must hear a fuss about 
something or other. What's this boy snivelling 
about?" he continued, turning to little Bobby, his 
oldest boy, a little ragged, dirty-faced, sickly-looking 
thing, about six years old ; at the same time giving 
the child a box on the ear, which laid him his length 
on the floor. "ITow shet up!" said Jerry, "or I'll 
lam you to be crying about all day for nothing." 

The tears rolled afresh down the cheeks of Mrs. 
Guttridge ; she sighed heavily as she raised the child 
from the floor, and seated him on a bench on the op- 
posite side of the room. 

" What is Bob crying about ?" said Jerry, fretfully. 

" Why, Mr. Guttridge," said his wife, sinking upon 
the bench beside her little boy, and wiping the tears 
with her apron, " the poor child has been crying for a 
piece of bread these two hours. He's eat nothing to- 
day but one potatoe, and I s'pose the poor thing is 
half starved." 

At this moment their neighbor, Mr. ISTat. Frier, a 
substantial farmer, and a worthy man, made his ap- 
pearance at the door ; and as it was wide open, he 



JERRY GUTTRIDGE. 129 

walked in and took a seat. He knew the destitute 
condition of Gnttridge's family, and had often relieved 
their distresses. His visit at the present time was 
partly an errand of charity ; for, being in want of 
some extra labor in his haying field that afternoon, 
and knowing that Jerry was doing nothing, while his 
fajnily was starving, he thought he would endeavor tc 
get him to work for him, and pay him in provisions. 

Jerry seated himself rather sullenly on a broken 
backed chair, the only sound one in the house being 
occupied by Mr. Frier, toward whom he cast sundry 
gruff looks and surly glances. The truth was, Jerry 
had not received the visits of his neighbors, of late 
years, wdth a very gracious welcome. He regarded 
them rather as spies, who came to search out the naked- 
ness of the land, than as neighborly visitors, calling 
to exchange friendly salutations. He said not a word ; 
and the first address of Mr. Frier was to little Bobby. 

" What's the matter with little Bobby?" said he, in 
a gentle tone ; " come, my little fellow, come here 
and tell me what's the matter." 

" Go, run, Bobby ; go and see Mr. Frier," said the 
mother, slightly pushing him forward with her hand. 

The boy, with one finger in his mouth, and the tears 

Btill rolling over his dirty Hie, edged along sid^wise 

6* 



130 'way down east. 

up to Mr. Frier, wlio took him in his lap, and asked 
him again what was the matter. 

" I want a piece of bread !'^ said Bobby. 

" And won't your mother give yon som.e ?" said 
Mr. Frier, tenderly. 

" She ha'n't got none," replied Bobby, " nor 'taters 
too." Mrs. Guttridge's tears told the rest of the 
story. The worthy farmer knew they were entirely 
out of provisions again, and he forbore to ask any 
further questions ; but told Bobby if he would go 
over to his house, he would give him something to 
eat. Then turning to Jerry, said he : — 

" Neighbor Guttridge, I've got four tons of hay 
down, that needs to go in this afternoon, for it looks 
as if we should have rain to-morrow ; and I've come 
over to see if I can get you to go and help me. If 
you'U go this afternoon, and assist me tc get it in, I'll 
give you a bushel of meal, or a half bushel of meal 
and a bushel of potatoes, and two pounds of 
pork." 

" I can't go," said Jerry, " I've got something else 
to do." 

" Oh, well," said Mr Frier, " if you've got anything 
else to do that will be more profitable, I'm glad of it, 
for there's enough hands that I can get ; only I 



^ OEREY GUTTRIDGE. 131 

thought you might like to go, bein' you was scant of 
provisions." 

" Do pray go, Mr, Guttridge !" said his wife, with 
a beseeching look, " for you are only going over to 
the shop to ride them horses, and that won't do no 
good ; you'll only spend all the afternoon for nothin', 
and then we shall have to go to bed without our sup- 
per, again. Do pray go, Mr. Guttridge, do !" 

" I wish you would hold yom' everlasting clack ;" 
said Jerry ; " you are always full of complainings. 
It's got to be a fine time of day, if the women are 
a-goin' to rule the roast. I sliaTl go over and ride them 
horses, and it's no business to you nor nobody else ; 
and if you are too lazy to get your own supper, you 
may go without it ; that's all I've got to say." 

With that he aimed for the door, when Mr. Frier 
addressed him as follows : — 

" Now I must say, neighbor Guttridge, if you are 
going to spend the afternoon over to the shop, to ride 
horses for them jockeys, and leave your family with- 
out provisions, when you have a good chance to 'arn 
enough this afternoon to last them nigh about a week, 
I must say, neighbor Guttridge, that I think you aro 

not r" the way of your duty." 

Upon this Jerry whirled round, and looked Mr 



132 'way down east. 

Frier full in the face, " grinning horribly a ghastly 
smile," and said he, 

" Ton old, miserable, dirty, meddling vagabond ! 
you are a scoundrel and a scape-gallows, and an 
infernal small piece of a man, /think ! I've as good 
a mind to kick you out of doors, as e^^er I had to eat ! 
Who made you a master over me, to be telling me 
what's my duty ? You better go home and take care 
of your own brats, and let your neighbors' alone !" 

Mr. Frier sat and looked Jerry calmly in the face, 
without uttering a syllable ; while he, having blown 
his blast, marched out of doors, and steered directly 
for the grog-shop, leaving his wife to " pick up some- 
thing," if she could, to keep herself and children from 
absolute starvation. 

Mr. Frier was a benevolent man and a Christian, 
and in the true spirit of Christianity he always sought 
to relieve distress wherever he found it. He was 
endowed, too, with a good share of plain common 
sense, and knew something of human nature ; and as 
he was well aware that Mrs. Guttridge really loved 
her husband, notwithstanding his idle habits, and 
sold, brutal treatment to his family, he forebore to 
remark upon the scene which had just passed ; but 
telling the afflicted woman he would send her some- 



JERKY GUTTRIDGE. 133 

thing to eat, he took little Bobby by the hand, and 
led him home. A plate of victuals was set before the 
child, who devoured it with a greediness that was 
piteous to behold. 

" Poor cre'tur !" said Mrs. Frier, " why, he's half 
starved ! Betsey, bring him a dish of bread and 
milk; that will set the best on his poor, empty, 
starved stomach." 

Betsey ran and got the bowl of bread and milk, and 
little Bobby's hand soon began to move from the dish 
to his mouth, with a motion as stead y and rapid as 
the pendulum of a clock. The whole family stood 
and looked on, with pity and surprise, until he had 
finished his meal, or rather until he had eaten as 
much as they dared allow him to eat at once ; for 
although he had devoured a large plate of meat and 
vegetables, and two dishes of bread and milk, his 
appetite seemed as ravenous as when he first began ; 
and he still, like the memorable Oliver Twist, " asked 
for more." 

While Bobby had been eating, Mr. Frier had been 
relating to his family the events which had occurred at 
Guttridge's house, and the starving condition of the 
inmates; and it was at once agreed that something 
should be sent :ver immediately ; for they all said 



134 ^WAY DOWN EAST. 

" Mrs. Guttridge was a clever woman, and it was a 
shame that she should be left to suifer so." 

Accordingly, a basket was filled with bread, a jug 
of milk, and some meat and vegetables, ready cooked, 
which had been left from their dinner ; and Betsey 
ran and brought a pie, made from their last year's 
dried pumpkins, and asked her mother if she might 
not put that in, " so the poor starving cre'turs might 
have a little taste of something that was good." 

" Yes," said her mother, " and put in a bit of 
cheese with it ; I don't think we shall be any the 
poorer for it ; for ' he that giveth to the poor lendeth 
to the Lord.' " 

" Yes, yes," said Mr. Frier, " and I guess you may 
as well put in a little dried pumpkin ; she can stew it 
up for the little ones, and it'll be good for 'em. 
We've got a plenty of green stuff a-gi'owin', to last 
till pumpkins come again." So a quantity of dried 
pumpkin was also packed in the basket, and the pie 
laid on the top, and George was despatched, in com- 
pany with little Bobby, to carry it over. 

Mr. Frier's benevolent feelings had become highly 
excited. He forgot his four tons of hay, and sat 
down to consult with his wife about what could be 
done for the Guttridge family. Something must be 



JERRY GUTTRIDGE. ISO 

done soon ; lie was not able to support tliem all the 
time ; and if they were left alone mnch longer tliej^ 
would starve. He told his wife he " had a good mind 
to go and enter a complaint to the grand jury agin' 
Jerry, for a lazy, idle person, that did n't provide for 
his family. The court sets at Saco to-morrow, and 
don'fyou think, wife, I had better go and do it ?" 

His wife thought he had better go ov^r first and 
talk with Mrs. Guttridge about it ; and if she was 
willing he had better do it. Mr. Frier said, he 
" could go over and talk with her, but he did n't think 
it would be the least use, for she loved Jerry, ugly as 
he was, and he did n't believe she would be willing to 
have him punished by the court." 

However, after due consultation, he concluded to 
go over and have a talk with Mrs. Guttridge about 
the matter. Accordingly, he took his hat and walked 
over. He found the door open, as usual, and walked 
in without ceremony. Here he beheld the whole 
family, including Jerry himself, seated at their little 
pine table, doing ample justice to their basket of pro- 
visions which he had just before sent them. He 
observed the pie had been cut into pieces, and one 
half of it, and he thought rather the largest half, was 
laid on Jerry's plate, the rest being cut up into small 



136 'way down east. 

bits, and divided among the children. Mrs. Gut- 
tridge had reserved none to herself, except a small 
spoonful of the soft part with which she was trying 
to feed the baby. The other eatables seemed to be 
distributed very much in the same proportion. 

Mr. Frier was a cool, considerate man, whose pas- 
sions were always under the most perfect control; 
but he always confessed, for years afterwards, " that 
for a minute or two, he thought he felt a little some- 
thing: like anger rising up in his stomach !" 

He sat and looked on until they had finished their 
meal, and Jerry had eaten bread, and meat, and 
vegetables enough for two common men's dinner, and 
swallowed his half of the pie, and a large slice of 
cheese by way of dessert ; and then rose, took his 
hat, and without saying a word, marched deliberately 
out of the house, directing his course again to the 
grog-shop. 

Mr. Frier now broached the subject of his errand 
to Mrs. Guttridge. He told her the neighbors could 
not afford to support her family muc)i longer, and 
unless her husband went to work he did n't see but 
they would have to starve. 

Mrs. Guttridge began to cry. She said " she did n't 
know what they should do ; she had talked as long ai? 



I 



\ 



JEKRY GUTTKIDGE. 137 

talking would do any good ; but someliow Mr. Gut- 
tridere didn't seem to love work. She believed it 
was n't his natur' to work." 

"Well, Mrs. Guttridge, do yon believe the Scrip- 
tures ?" said Mr. Frier, solemnly. 

" I'm sure I do," said Mrs. Guttridge ; " I believe 
all there is in the Bible." 

" And don't you know," said Mr. Frier, " the Bible 
says, ' He that will not work, neither shall he eat.' " 

" I know there's something in the Bible like that," 
said Mrs. Guttridge, with a very serious look. 

"Then do you think it right," said Mr. Frier, 
" when yom* neighbors send you in a basket of provi- 
sions, do you think it right that Mr. Guttridge, who 
won't work and 'arn a mouthful himself, should sit 
down and eat more than all the rest of you, and pick 
out the best part of it, too ?" 

" Well, I don't suppose it's right," said Mrs. Gut- 
tridge, thoughtfully ; " but somehow, Mr. Guttridge is 
80 hearty, it seems as if he would faint away, if he 
didn 't have more than the rest of us to eat." 

" Well, are you willing to go on in this way ?" con* 
tinned Mr. Frier, " in open violation of the Scriptures, 
and keep yourself and children every day in danger 
of starving ?" 



138 'way down east. 

" What can 1 do, Mr. Frier ?" said Mrs. Guttridge 
bui'sting into a flood of tears ; " I've talked, and it's 
no use ; Mr. Guttridge, won't work ; it don't seem to 
be in him. Maybe if you should talk to him, Mr. 
Frier, he might do better." 

"E'o, that would be no use," said Mr. Frier. 
" When I was over here before, you see how he took 
it, jest because I spoke to him about going over to the 
shop, when he ought to be to work, to get something 
for his family to eat. You see how mad he was, and 
how provoking he talked to me. It's no use for me 
to say anything to him ; but I think, Mrs. Guttridge, 
if somebody should complain to the Grand Jury 
about him, the Court would make him go to work. 
And if you are willing for it, I think I should feel it 
my duty to go and complain of him." 

" Well, I don't know but it would be best," said 
Mrs. Guttridge, " and if you think it would make him 
go to work, I'm willing you should. When will the 
Court sit ?" 

" To-morrow," said Mr. Frier ; " and I'll give up 
all other business, and go and attend to it." 

"But what will the Court dx) to him, Mr. Frier?'' 
asked Mrs. Guttridge. 

" Well, I don't know," said Mr. Frier, " but I ex- 



JERfeT GUTTEIDGE. 139 

pect they'll punish him ; and I know they'll make him 
go to work." 

" Pnnish him !" exclaimed Mrs. Guttridge, with a 
troubled air. " Seems to me I don't want to have him 
punished. But do you think, Mr. Frier, they will 
hurt him any ?" 

"Well, I think it's likely," said Mr. Frier, " they 
will hurt him some ; but you must remember, Mrs. 
Guttridge, it is better once to smart than always to 
ache. Kemember, too, you'll be out of provisions 
again by to-morrow. Your neighbors can't support 
your family all the time ; and if your husband don't 
go to work, you'll be starving again." 

"Oh dear— well, I don't know!" said Mrs. Gut- 
iridge, with tears in her eyes. "You may do jest as 
you think best about it, Mr. Frier ; that is, if you 
don't think they'll hurt him." 

Mr. Frier returned home ; but the afternoon was so 
far spent that he was able to get in only one ton of 
his hay, leaving the other three tons out, to take the 
chance of the weather. He and his wife spent the 
evening in discussing what com^se was best to pursue 
with regard to the complaint against Mr. Guttridge ; 
but, notwithstanding his wife was decidedly in favor 
of his going the next morning and entering the com 



14:0 'way down east. 

plaint, since Mrs. Gnttridge had consented, yet Mr. 
Frier was undecided. He did not like to do it ; Mr, 
Guttridge was a neighbor, and it was an unpleasant 
business. But when he arose the next morning, looked 
out, and beheld his three tons of hay drenched with 
a heavy rain, and a prospect of a continued storm, he 
was not long in making up his mind. 

" Here," said he, " I spent a good part oi the day, 
yesterday, in looking after G-uttridge's family, to keep 
them from starving; and now, by this means, I've 
nigh about as good as lost three tons of hay. I 
don't think it's my duty to put up with it any 
longer." 

Accordingly, as soon as breakfast was over, Mr. 
Frier was out, spattering along in the mud and rain, 
with his old great-coat thi'own over his shoulders, the 
sleeves flapping loosely down by his side, and hig 
drooping hat twisted awry, wending his way to -Court, 
to appear before the Grand Jury. 

" Well, Mr. Frier, what do you want ?" asked the 
foreman, as the complainant entered the room. 

"I come to complain of Jerry Guttridge to the 
Grand Jury," replied Mr. Frier, taking off his hat^ 
and shaking the rain from it. 

" Why, what has Jerry Guttridge done ?" said the 



JEEEY GUTTRIDGE. 141 

foreman. " I didn't think he had life enough to do 
anjthifig worth complaining of to the Grand 
Jmy." 

" It's because he has nH got life enough to do any- 
thing," said Mr. Frier, " that I've come to complain 
of him. The fact is, Mr. Foreman, he's a lazy, idle 
fellow, and won't work, nor provide nothin' for his 
family to eat ; and they've been half starving this 
long time; and the neighbors have had to keep 
sending in something all the time, to keep 'em 
alive." 

" But," said the foreman, " Jerry's a peaceable kind 
of a chap, Mr. Frier ; has anybody ever talked to him 
about it in a neighborly way, and advised him to do 
differently ? And maybe he has no chance to work 
where he could get anything for it." 

" I am sorry to say," replied Mr. Frier, " that he's 
been talked to a great deal, and it don't do no good ; 
and I tried hard to get him to work for me yesterday 
afternoon, and offered to give him victuals enough to 
last his family 'most a week, but I couldn't get him 
t(., and he went off to the gi'og-shop to see some 
jockeys swop horses. And when I told him, calmly, 
I lid n't think he was in the way of his duty, he flew 
\i a passion, and called me an old, miserable, dirty 



42 'wATDOWiN^EAST. 

meddling vagabond, and a scoundrel, and a scape- 
gallows, and an infernal small piece of a man !" 

" Abominable !" exclaimed one of the jury ; " who 
ever beard of such outrageous conduct ?" 

" "What a vile, blasphemous wretch !" exclaimed 
another ; " I shouldn't a wondered if he'd a fell dead 
on the spot." 

The foreman asked Mr. Frier if Jerry had " used 
them very words." 

" Exactly them words, every one of 'em," said Mr. 
Frier. 

" "Well," said the foreman, " then there is no more 
to be said. Jerry certainly deserves to be indicted, 
if anybody in this world ever did." 

Accordingly the indictment was drawn up, a war- 
rant was issued, and the next day Jerry was brought 
before the Court to answer to the charges preferred 
against him. Mrs. Sally Guttridge and Mr. IS'at. 
Frier were summoned as witnesses. "When the 
honorable Court was ready to hear the case, the clerk 
called Jerry Guttridge, and bade him to hearken to 
an indictment found against him by the grand inquest 
for the District of Maine, now sitting at Saco, in the 
words following, viz : — 

" We present Jerry Guttridge for an idle person, 



JEBKT ^GUTI =JIDGE. 143 

and not providing for his family; and giving 
reproachful language to Mr. 'Nsit. Frier, when he 
reproved him for his idleness." " Jerr j Guttridge, 
what say you to tliis indictment? Are you guilty 
thereof, or not guilty V 

" Not gnilty," said Jerry, " and here's my wife can 
tell you the same any day. Sally, have n't I always 
provided for my family ?" 

" Why, yes," said Mrs. Guttridge, " I don't know 
but you have as well as " 

" Stop, stop !" said the Judge, looking down over 
the top of his spectacles at the witness; "stop, Mrs. 
Guttridge ; you must not answer questions nntil you 
have been sworn." 

The Court then directed the clerk to swear the wit- 
nesses; whereupon, he called 'Nat Trier and Sally 
Guttridge to come forward, and hold up their right 
Hands. Mr. Frier advanced, with a ready, honest air, 
and held up his hand. Mrs. Guttridge lingered a 
little behind ; but when at last she faltered along, 
with feeble and hesitating step, and held up her thin, 
trembling hand, and raised her pale blue eyes, half 
swimming in tears, towards the Court, and exhibited 
her care-worn features, which, though sun-bm*ned, 
were pale and sickly, the Judge had in his own mind 



l44 'way down»east. 

more than half decided the case against Jerry. Iho 
witnesses having been sworn, Mrs. Guttridge was 
called to the stand. 

" JS'ow, Mrs. Guttridge," said the Judge, '' you are 
not obliged to testify against your hasband any more 
than you choose ; your testimony must be voluntary. 
The Court will ask you questions touching the case, 
and you may answer them or not, as you think best. 
And, in the first place, I will ask you whether your 
husband neglects to provide for the necessary wants 
of his family; and whether you do, or do not, have com- 
fortable food and clothing for yourself and children ?" 

" Well, we go pretty hungry a good deal of the 
time," said Mrs. Guttridge, trembling ; " but I don't 
know but Mr. Guttridge does the best he can about 
it. There don't seem to be any victuals that he can 
get, a good deal of the time." 

" Well, is he, or is he not, in the habit of spending 
his time idly when he might be at work, and earning 
riomething for his family to live upon ?" 

" Why, as to that," replied the witness, " Mr. Gut- 
tridge don't work much ; but I don't know as he can 
help it ; it does n't seem to be his natur' to work. 
Somehow, he don't seem to be made like other folks ; 
for if he tries ever so much, he can't never work but 



JERKY GUTTEIDGE. 145 

a few minutes at a time ; the natur' don't seem :o be 
in liim." 

" Well, well,' said the Judge, casting a dignified 
and judicial gla ice at the culprit, who stood with his 
mouth wide opei , and eyes fixed on the Court with an 
intentness that snowed he began to take some interest 
in the matter ; " well, well, perhaps the Court will be 
able to put the latur' in him." 

Mrs. Guttridgo was directed to step aside, and Mr. 
Nat. Frier was called to the stand. His testimony- 
was very much :o the point ; clear and conclusive. 
But as the reade .- is already in possession of the sub- 
stance of it, it is unnecessary to recapitulate it. 
Suffice it to say, that when he was called upon to 
repeat the repr)achful language which Jerry had 
bestowed upon t le witness, there was much shudder- 
ing, and an awful rolling of eyes, throughout the 
court room. Evan the prisoner's face kindled almost 
up to a blaze, an i thick drops of sweat were seen to 
start from his .brehead. The Judge, to be sure, 
letained a dignif ed self-possession, and settling back 
in his chair, said it was not necessary to question the 
witness any fiirt ler ; the case was clearly made out ; 
Jerry Guttridge was unquestionably guilty of the 
claarges preferrec' against hiia. 



146 WAY DOWN EAST. 

The Court, out of delicacy toward the feelings of 
his wife, refrained from pronouncing sentence until 
bIic had retired, which she did on an intimation being 
given her that the case was closed, and she could 
return home. Jeriy was then called and ordered to 
hearken to his sentence, as the Court had recorded it. 

Jerry stood up and faced the Court, with fixed eyes 
and gaping mouth, and the clerk repeated as fol- 
lows : — 

" Jerry Guttridge ! you have been found guilty of 
being an idle and lazy person, and not providing for 
3'our family, and giving reproachful language to Mr. 
Nat. Frier, when he reproved you for your idleness. 
Tlie Court orders that you receive twenty smart lashes, 
with the cat-o'-nine-tails, upon your naked back, and i 
that this sentence be executed forthwith, by the con 
stables, at the whipping-post in the yard adjoining 
the court-house." 

Jerry dropped his head, and his fiice assumed divers 
deep colors, sometimes red, and sometimes shading 
upon the blue, lie tried to glance round upon the 
assembled multitude, but his look was very sheepish ; 
and, uiuible to stand the gaze of the hurdreds of eyes 
that were upon him, he settled back on a bench, lean- 
ed his head on his hand, and looked steadily upon the 



JEKRY GUTTKIDGE. 147 

floor. The constables having been directed bj the 
Court to proceed forthwith to execute the sentence, 
tliej led him out into the javd, put his arms round 
the whipping-post, and tied his hands together. lie 
submitted without resistance ; but when they com- 
menced tying his hands round the post, he began to 
cry and beg, and promised better fashions if they 
would only let him go this time. But the constables 
told him it was too late now ; the sentence of the Court 
had been passed, and the punishment must be inflict- 
ed. The whole throng of spectators had issued from 
the court-house, and stood round in a large ring, to 
see the sentence enforced. The Judge himself had 
stepped to a side wmdow, which commanded a view 
of the yard, and stood peeruig solemnly through his 
spectacles to see that the ceremony was duly perform- 
ed. All things being in readiness, the stoutest con- 
stable took the cat-o'-nine-tails, and laid the blows 
heavily across the naked back of the victim. E'early 
every blow brought blood, and as they successively 
fell, Jerry jumped and screamed, so that he might 
have been heard vs' ell-nigh a mile. Wlien the twenty 
blows were counted, and the ceremony was ended, ho 
was loosed from his confinement, and told that he 
might go. He put on his garments, with a sullen but 



148 'W^r DOWN EAST. 

subdued air, and without stopping to pay his respects 
to the Court, or even to bid any one good-by, he 
straightened for home as fast as he could go. 

Mrs. Guttridge met him at the door, with a kind 
and piteous look, and asked him if they hurt him. 
He made no reply, but pushed along into the house. 
There he found the table set, and well supplied, for 
dinner ; for Mrs. Guttridge, partly through the kind- 
ness of Mr. Frier, and partly from her own exertions, 
had managed to " pick up something " that served to 
make quite a comfortable meal. Jerry ate his dinner 
in silence, but his wife thought he manifested more 
tenderness and less selfishness than she had known 
him to exhibit for several years ; for, instepvd of appro- 
priating the most and the best of the food to himself, 
he several times placed fair proportions of it upon the 
plates of his wife and each of the children. 

The next morning, before the sun had dried the dew 
from the grass, whoever passed the haying field of 
Mr. Nat. Frier might have beheld Jerry Guttridge 
busily at work, shaking out the wet hay to t}ie sun ; 
and for a month afterward the passer-by might have j 
seen him every day, early and late, in that and the 
adjoining fields, a perfect pattern of industry. 

A change soon became perceptible in the condition 



JEEKY GCTTRIDGE. 149 

and circumstances of his family. BKs house began to 
wear more of an air of comfort, outside and in. His 
wife improved in health and spirits, and little Bobby 
became a fat, hearty boy, and grew like a pumpkin. 
And years afterward Mrs. Guttridge was heard to say 
that, " somehow, ever since that 'ere trial, Mr. Gut- 
tridge's natur' seemed to be entirely changed." 



lt>0 'way down east. 



CHAPTEE YIL 

SEATING THE PAEISH. 

" Order, is Heaven's first law ; and this confessed, 
Some are, and must be, greater than the rest." 

So thouglit tlie good people of tlie old town of 
Brookhaven, about a hnndred and forty years ago, 
when they enacted the law for for seating the pa/rish 
at church. Do any of our distant readers want infor- 
mation as to the locality and geography of Brookhaven ? 
We may as well premise in the outset, that it is on 
Long island, some sixty miles or so from the city of 
New York, and is the largest town in territory iu 
Suffolk County, containing more than a hundred 
thousand acres, and stretching across the whole width 
of the island. It contains seven or eight thousand 
inhabitants, who are distributed in several villages 
along the shores of the Sound and the Atlantic, while the 
middle portions of the town still remain covered with 
pine forests, abounding with deer and other wild game. 

The early settlers of this part of Long Island were 



SEATING THE PARISH. 151 

mostly from New England, and the inhabitants still 
retain mnch of the primitive Pnritan character of 
their forefathers. A company from Boston and its 
vicinity, commenced a settlement in Brookhaven as 
early as sixteen hundred and fifty-five ; and in ten 
years the settlement had increased so mnch, that they 
called a minister of the gospel to come and reside 
among them. Their choice of pastor was, of course, 
from the good old Pilgrim stock ; for where else could 
they go ? There was ho other race among men or 
under heaven, according to their ideas, '' whereby they 
could be saved." Accordingly, they settled as their first 
minister, Kev. ITathan Brewster, a grandson of Elder 
William Brewster, who came over in the May Flower. 

Thus having proved the origin of the good people 
of Brookhaven, it follows as a matter of course, that 
they were not only a pious people, a church-going 
people, but also great lovers of m^der and decorum. 
Happily, so important a conclusion does not rest for 
its authority on mere inference alone ; it is sustained 
by ample and positive proof in the shape of duly 
authenticated records. 

Like most new and remote settlements, the town 
might, for some time, be regarded as a sort of inde- 
peoident democracy. The people met together in » 



152 'way down east. 

body, and adopted rules, and made liws, and elected 
magistrates and other officers, to see t le laws properly 
executed. Their attendance at chur^ h, also, was, for 
many years, conducted very much oi the democratic 
principle. Indeed this is most usua ly the case with 
churches in all new settlements. Th 3 meeting-house, 
as well as the nation, experiences its revolutions, and 
in the progress of society, passes through all the regu- 
lar forms of government. 

It has its period of pure democrac} ; when the tem- 
ple is a humble, unfinished structure, with open doors 
and windows, and the people come ar i go at all times 
during the hours of worship, as best suits their plea- 
sure. Then it is, that the congrega don sit on stoat 

longitudinal planks supported by bio jks of wood, and 
on transverse boards resting on the i foresaid planks. 
These planks and boards being commoi property, vested 
in the body politic, the respective se ats, on the Sab- 
bath, are seized and rightfully held, ike a newly dis- 
covered country, by the first occupant ; thus affording 
a practical illustration at the same tii le both of their 
political and religious faith, viz. : — t at the people of 
the parish are all equal, and that Go 1 is no respecter 
of persons. 
In progress of time, the meeting-house glides natu- 



SEATING THE PARISH. 15^ 

rally into tlie aristocratic form of government. Wealth 
has begmi to make distinctions in society. A better 
building is erected, or the old one repaired and put in 
a condition more suitable to the times. Permanent 
fixtures take the place of the loose planks and boards, 
and low partition walls divide the floor into distinct 
compartments. This revolution has been brought on 
and carried out by the wealth of the few who had the 
irieans to sustain it, and they in return receive the 
honors and distinctions usually bestowed on the suc- 
cessful leaders of a revolution. The many look up to 
them with reverence, and stand back and give place 
to them whenever they appear. The affairs of the 
meeting-house are now principally under their manage- 
ment and control, and having taken possession of the 
most honorable seats, and provided that the most 
respectable among the mass should take the seats of 
the next highest grade, the remainder of the house is 
left free for promiscuous occupation. 

Years pass on ; and by the diffusion of wealth and 
knowledge, and the increase of numbers, the society 
becomes ripe for another revolution. Then perhaps 
comes on a sort of constitutional government, not 
unlike that of our great Republican Union. A taste- 
ful and costly chm-ch is erected, and the snug and 



164 'way down east. 

elegant family pew succeeds to tlie former rude 
compartments. Each, pew, like a sovereign and 
independent State, is governed by the head of the 
family, who has entire control over all matters of its 
internal police, subject, however, at all times, to the 
general ani common laws of the society. 

The illustration of our subject, drawn from the 
history of the good old town of Brookhaven, is 
derived from that period when the meeting-house was 
undergoing a change from a democratic to an aristo- 
cratic form of government. The building had been 
much improved, mainly by the generous liberality of 
Colonel Smith, who had poured out his treasure like 
water, to accomplish so laudable an object. By the 
thorough renovation it underwent at this time, includ- 
ing the applications of yellow ochre and oil, and the 
change of loose planks and boards for permanent 
seats, the meeting-house was much modernized, and 
exhibited a very respectable appearance. In front of 
the pulpit stood a large table of about twelve feet by 
four, around which, on communion days, the church 
gathered to partake of the supper. At the regular 
Sabbath services, the upper members of the parish, 
including, of course, Colonel Smith and his family, 
seated themselves at the table, as being the most 



J 



SEATING THE PARISH. 155 

honorable seat, on account of its vicinity to the pul- 
pit, and the convenience it afforded as a resting-place 
for psahn-books and psalters. The rest of the floor 
of the meeting-house was divided into fifteen different 
aj)artments, of an oblong, bed-room sort of size and 
shape, which were denominated pews. 

But it is hard to bring the mass of community to 
adopt great changes or innovations in government, or 
the habits of society. When our excellent federal 
Constitution was framed, it was a long time before a 
majority of the people of all the States could be 
induced to fall in with it, and receive it as their form 
of government. So it was with the parish of Brook- 
haven. Tliey had been accustomed, from time 
immemorial, to sit promiscuously in all parts of the 
meeting-house wherever they pleased, and there 
seemed to be but little dispositon on the part of the 
mass of the parish, to break over the old habit. The 
society had become numeroiis, and contained many 
noisy and roguish boys, and not a few thoughtless and 
frolicking young men. Scenes of indecorum and 
confusion occurred almost every Sabbath, greatly to 
the annoyance of the more sober part of the congre- 
gation, and sometimes to the interruption of tlio 
ceremonial o^ worship. 



156 'way down east. 

At last good Parson Pliillips liad t ) stop short one 
day in the midst of his sermon. He stood silent for 
the space of a minute, looldng i :ernly at pews 
number fom- and six, and then, sh .king his finger 
solemnly in that direction, he said : 

" If the boys in pew number foii r will stop that 
crowding and shuffling their feet, anc the young men 
in pew number six will cease their whispering with 
the young women, the sermon can gc on ; if not, not." 

The whole congregation looked thunderstruck. 
The old men turned their heads towa -ds the two pews 
and then towards the minister, and t len towards the 
pews again. Deacon Jones, colorin ,^ with indigna- 
tion, rose on his feet, and glanced roi nd with a look 
of awful rebuke upon pew numbe ■ six; and Mr. 
Wigglesworth, who was seated at the table, went 
directly into pew number four, and seizing two of 
the boys by the shoulders in the thickest of the 
crowd, dragged them out of the pe- 7, and set them 
down at the foot of the pulpit stairs. These decided 
demonstrations in favor of good orde • were not with- 
out their influence, and the services . .gain proceeded 
without any material interruption till the close. 
When Parson Phillips was about tc pronoimc-e the 
benediction. Deacon Jones was obser\ ed to rise sooner 



SEATING THE PARISH. 167 

than ne was accustomed to do, and before any of the 
rest of the congregation ; and he was observed, also, 
to stand during that ceremony, with his back to the 
minister, and looking round upon the audience, a 
thing which he was never seen to do before. The 
congregation, therefore, were prepared to expect 
something out of the usual course, from Deacon 
Jones. As soon as the amen had dropped from the 
minister's lips, the deacon stretched out his hand, and 
began to address the audience. 

" I think," said he, " the scenes we have wit- 
nessed here to-day, as well as on several Sabbaths 
heretofore, admonish us that we have a duty to per- 
form which has been too long neglected. If we have 
any regard for our character, as an orderly and well- 
behaved people ; if we have any respect for the house 
of God, and the holy religion we profess, I think it is 
high time we took a decided stand, and adopted some 
strong measures to secure order and decorum during 
the hours of public worship. I feel impelled by a 
sense of duty to invite a general meeting to be held 
at this place to-morrow, to take the subject into con- 
sideration. And I hope that all the heads of families 
in town, and all who vote aid pay taxes, will meet 
here to-morrow at ten o'clock for this pm'pose." 



158 'way DOWN EAST. 

Colonel Smith spoke, and said lie approved of tlio 
suggestion of Deacon Jones, and hoped there would 
be a general attendance.. The congregation then dis- 
persed, son,e moving silently and thoughtfully home- 
ward, and some loitering by the way and leaning over 
tlie fences, in companies of three or four together, and 
discussing earnestly the events of the day, and pro- 
posing plans to be presented at the meeting to- 
morrow. 

Punctually at ten o'clock, the next day, there was 
a very general gathering of the inhabitants at the 
meeting-house. On motion of Deacon Jones, Colonel 
Smith was unanimously appointed " moderator," or 
chairman of the meeting, and on assuming the chair, 
he stated in a few pertinent remarks, the general 
object of the meeting, and said they were now ready 
to hear any observations or suggestions on the subject. 
A minute or two passed in perfect silence, and no one 
seemed disposed to rise. At last, the chairman said, 
perhaps Squire Tallmadge would favor the meeting 
with his views of the matter. The eyes of all were 
now turned toward Squire Tallmadge, who after a 
little pause, rose slowly, and addressed the chair as 
follows. 

" For one, Mr. Mode ^ator, I feel the importance of 



* 



SEATING THE PARISH. 159 

the subject upon which we are met ; and for one, I 
am prepared to go into strong measures to remedy 
the evil, which has been so common of late. The 
evil is great, and must be corrected. We had a 
specimen yesterday of the noise and indecorum which 
sometimes interrupts the course of worship. And 
that is not all, nor the worst of it. The young men 
and the boys have got in the habit of going in early 
sometimes, before ""orvices begin, and crowding into 
the best seats, and occupying the chairs round the 
table ; so that the older people, the pillars of the 
church, and those who bear most of the expense of 
supporting the gospel, have to go into the back seats 
or stow themselves round in the corners, wherever 
they can find a chance. This is the difficulty, and it 
seems to me the remedy would lie in some entirely 
new arrangement for seating the parish. I think the 
inhabitants should be properly divided into classes, 
and each class assigned to a different pew, having 
reference to the rank and respectability of each class, 
and the respective proportions they contribute to the 
support of the gospel." 

As Squire Tallmadge sat down, Mr. Wiggles worth 
and Doctor Wetmore rose nearly at the same time. 
The chair finally decided that Mr. "Wigglesworth had 



160 'way down east. 

the floor, whereupon Mr. Wigglesworth made the 
following remarks. 

"Mr. Moderator; I agree with all that Squire 
Tallmadge has said, exactly ; only I don't think he's 
stated the andacions conduct half strong enough. I 
think, if the young men have courting to do, they 
should do it at home and not in church. Why, Mr. 
Moderator, I've seen a young man, that I won't call 
by name, now, though he's here in this meeting, 
set with his arm round the girl that sot next to 
him half sermon time." Here the heads of the 
audience were turned in various directions, 'till 
their eyes rested on four or five young men, who, 
with unusual modesty, had taken some of the back 
seats, and one of whom was observed to color 
deeply. 

" I think," continued Mr. "Wigglesworth, " the 
people at church ought to be sifted out, and divided, 
each sort by itself. What's the use of having these 
'ere pews, if it aint to divide the people into tliem 
according to their sorts? I have a calf-pen and a 
sheep-pen in my barn-yard, and I put the calves into 
one, and the sheep into 'tothei, and then I put the 
bars up, and don't let 'em run back and forth into 
each other's pen, jest as they are a mind to. I've 



SEATING THE PARISH. 1(51 

no more to say, Mr. Moderator, only I hope 
noTi we've begun, we shall make thorough work 
of it." 

Doctor "Wetmore then rose, and made a few remarks. 
He fully agreed, with the suggestions thrown out by 
Squire Tallmadge. He had witnessed the evils com- 
plained of, and had been mortified by them a good 
many times ; and he believed the proper remedy 
would be, as Squire Tallmadge suggested, in some 
thorough change and some regular system, with 
regard to seating the parish at church. He would 
move therefore, that the subject be referred to the 
trustees, or selectmen of the town, and that they be 
requested to draw up an ordinance, to be adopted as a 
town law for seating the pec^le in a proper and 
orderly manner at church, according to their proper 
rank, and also having special reference to the 
sums contributed by each for the support of the 
gospel. 

Mr. Wigglesworth seconded the motion, and it was 
put and carried unanimously. Deacon Jones then 
moved that the trustees be requested to give thorough 
attention to the work the present week, and bring 
their ordinance in the next Sabbath morning, and 
have it read from the pulpit, and go into immediate 



162 'way down east. 

operation. This motion was also seconded and carried| 
and the meeting adjom-ned. 

This week was an anxions week at Brookhaven, and 
one on which an unusual amount of talking was done. 
The subject was canvassed and discussed in every pos- 
sible shape bj all classes and in all families. The old 
ladies were rejoicing at the prospect of more quiet 
and orderly meetings, and the young ladies were in 
fidgets to know where they were to sit. Several per- 
sons came forward with surprising liberality during 
this week, and added ten, fifteen, and some as high as 
twenty shillings, to their annual subscription, for the 
support of the ministry. 

At last, the important Sunday morning came round. 
It was a pleasant morning, and the people went 
uncommonly early to church, and the meeting-house 
was fuller than it had been seen for many months 
before. ITone, however, seemed disposed to take 
seats as they entered, and all were standing, when 
Parson Phillips came in. "When the Reverend gen- 
tleman came up to the pulpit, the chairman of the 
trustees handed him the ordinance, and requested him 
to read it from the pulpit, in order that the parish 
might be seated accordingly before the services corn* 
menced. 



SEATING THE PAEISH. 103 

Parson Phillips accordingly ascended the pulpit, 
and unfolded the paper, and while the whole congre- 
gation stood in profound silence, with their eyes fixed 
on the speaker, he read as follows. 

" At a meeting of the Trustees of Brookhaven, 
August 6, one thousand seven hundred and three • 
Wliereas, there hath been several rude actions of late 
happened in our church by reason of people not being 
seated, which is much to the dishonor of God and the 
discouragement of virtue ; For preventing the like 
again, it is ordered^ that the inhabitants be seated 
after the manner and form following : All freehold- 
ers that have or shall subscribe within a month to pay 
forty shillings to Mr. Phillips towards his salary shall 
be seated at the table, and that no women are permit- 
ted t^et there, except Colonel SmitNs lady, nor any 
woman Icind ; And that the President for the time 
being shall sit in the right-hand seat under the pulpit, 
and the clerk on the left ; the trustees in the front 
seat, and the Justices that are inhabitants of the town 
are to be seated at the table, whether they pay forty 
shillings or less. And the pew number one, all such 
persons as have or shall subscribe twenty shillings ; and 
the pew number two, such as subscribe to pay fifteen 



164: 'way down east. 

shillings ; in pew number three, such as subscribe to 
pay ten shillings ; number four, eight shillings ; num- 
ber -Rye, twelve shillings ; number six, nine shillings ; 
number seven, for the young men ; number eight, for 
the boys ; number nine, for ministers' widows and 
wives ; and for those women whose husbands pay 
forty shillings, to sit according to their age ; number 
eleven, for those men's wives that pay from twenty 
to fifteen shillings. The alley fronting the pews to be 
for such maids whose parents or selves shall subscribe, 
for two, six shillings ; number twelve, for those men's 
wives who pay from ten to fifteen shillings ; number 
thirteen, for maids ; number fourteen, for girls ; and 
number fifteen, for any. Captain Clark and Joseph 
Tooker to settle the inhabitants according to the above 
orders." * 

When the reading was finished. Captain Clark and 
Mr. Tooker entered upon the duties of their office ; 
and after about an hour's marching and counter- 
marching, and whispering, and pulling and hauling, 
and referring to the parish subscription books, the 
congregation was seated, quiet was restored, and the 
services of the day were performed without interrup 

• True extract from old records. 



SEATING THE PARISH. 165 

tion. The next Sabbath, each one knew his own 
place, and the new order of things was found to work 
well, and answered a good purpose for many long 
years after that, 'till in the progress of human events 
the parish became ripe for another reform. 



166 'way down east. 



CHAPTEE Yin. 

THE MONEY-DiaGEES AND OLD NICK. 

This is a money digging world of ours ; and, as it 
is said, " there are more ways than one to skin a cat," 
so are there more ways than one of digging for money. 
But, in some mode or other, this seems to be the nni- 
versal occnpation of the sons of Adam. Show me 
the man who does not spend one Iialf of his life long 
in digging for money, and I will show you an anomaly 
in the human species. , " Hunger will break through 
a stone wall," but love of money will compass earth 
and sea, and even brave heaven and hell, in pursuit 
of its object. The dark and bloody highwayman, in 
the silent hours of night, seeks a lonely pass on the 
public road, waits the approach of the coming travel- 
ler, puts a pistol to his breast and a hand to his pocket, 
takes his treasure, and flic^i to seek another spot and 
another opportunity for a repetition of his crime, and 
that is his mode of digging for money. The less dar- 
ing robber takes his false keys, and makes his way at 



THE MONET-DIGGEKS AND OLD NICK. 167 

midniglit into the store of the merchant, or the vaults 
of the bank, bears away his booty, and hides it in the 
earth j then, pale and haggard, creeps away to his rest- 
less conch, and rises in the morning to tremble at 
every sound he hears, and to read suspicion on the 
countenance of every one that approaches him — and 
that is his mode of digging for money. 

Step with me into the courts of justice. Listen to 
that learned barrister, pleading for his client. What 
eloquence ! what zeal ! what power ! How admirably 
does he " make the worse appear the better reason !" 
Tlie patient judges sit from morning till night, waiting 
for his conclusion, and still it comes not. Tlie evening 
waxeth late, and still he goes on citing case after case, 
and rule after rule, diving into huge piles of old 
volumes and musty records of the law, as eagerly as 
if his own life depended on the issue of the trial. 
"What is it that impels him to all this exertion ? I 
trow he is digging for money. 

And then, do you see that restless politician ? The 
whole weight of the government is resting on his 
shoulders. The salvation of the country depends 
upon the election of his candidates. How he rides 
from town to town, stirring up the voters ! How he 
claps the speakers at the public caucus, and with wliat 



168 'way down east. 

assiduity does he seize his neighbor by the button and 
lead him to the polls ! What is it that gives such firo 
to his patriotic zeal, and keeps him in such continual 
coftimotion ? The answer is short; he is only digging 
for money. 

And so it is with all ; the merchant in his counting- 
house, the mechanic in his workshop, and the farmer 
in his field, all are digging for money. 

But, laying aside all figures of speech, and all cir- 
cumlocution, let us speak of money-diggers proper — 
bond fide money-diggers — men who dig holes in the 
ground, and delve deep into the bowels of the earth, 
in search of pots of money and kettles of gold and 
silver coin. For such there are, and probably have 
been in all countries and all ages. 

On the rough and rocky coast of Maine, about ten 
miles to the eastward of Portland harbor, lies Jewell's 
Island. It is a bright and beautiful gem on the ocean's 
breast, full of various and romantic scenery. It has 
its green pastures, its cultivated fields, and its dark 
shaggy forests. Its seaward shore is a high and pre- 
cipitous mass of rock, rough, and ragged, and project- 
ing in a thousand shapes into the chafing ocean, whose 
broken waves dash and roll into its deep fissures, and 
^•oar and growl like distant thunder. On the inland 



THE MONEY-DiaGERS AND OLD NICK. 169 

side of the island, there is a grassy slope down to the 
water's edge, an i here is a little, round, quiet, harbor, 
where boats cai ride at anchor, or rest on the sandy 
beach in in pei :ect security. The island has been 
inhabited by a fjw fishermen, probably for a century, 
and, recently wc rks have been erected upon it for the 
manufactui'e of copperas and alum, the mineral from 
which these arti 3les are produced having been found 
there in great at :mdance. 

This island ha^ been renowned as a place for money- 
digging ever sii ce the first settlements were planted 
along the coast ; ind wild and romantic are the legends 
related by the o\ i dames, in the cottages of the fish- 
ermen, when so ne wind-bound passenger, who has 
left his vessel to 3pend the evening on shore, happens 
to make any inqi iry about the money-diggers. But of 
all these wild le^ endary narratives, probably there is 
none more authBntic, or supported by stronger or 
more undoubted testimony, than the veritable history 
herein recorded .nd preserved. 

Soon after the close of the revolutionary war, when 

tk^ country beg£ n. to breathe somewhat freely again, 

after its long de; thlike struggle, and the industry of 

the inhabitants t -as settling down into its accustomed 

channels, a sailoi , who had wandered from Portland 

8 



170 'way down east. 

harbor some forty or fifty miles back iato the country, 
called at the house of Jonathan Rider, and asked for 
some dinner. " But shiver my timbers," he added, 
" if I've got a stiver of money to pay for it with. The 
last shot I had in the locker went to pay for my 
breakfast." 

" Well, never mind that," said Jonathan, " I never 
lets a fellow creetur go away hungry as long as I've 
got anything to eat myself. Come, haul up to the 
table here, and take a little of such pot-luck as we've 
got. Patty, hand on another plate, and dip up a little 
more soup." 

The sailor threw his tarpaulin cap upon the floor, 
gave a hitch at his waistband, and took a seat at the 
table with the family, who had already nearly finished 
their repast. 

" What may I call your name, sir, if I may be se 
bold?" said Jonathan, at the same time handing a 
bowl of soup to the sailor. 

" My name is Bill Stanwood, the world over, fail 
weather or foul ; I was born and brought up in old 
Marblehead, and followed fishing till I was twenty 
years old, and for the last ten years I've been foreign 
viges all over the world." 

" And how happens you to get away so far from the 



THE MONEY-DIGGERS AND OLD NICK. 171 

sea now, jest as the times is gi'owing better, and trade 
is increasing ?" 

" Oil, I had a bit of a notion," said Bill, " to take a 
land tack a few days np round in these parts." 

" Maybe youVe got some relations np this way," 
said Jonathan, " that you are going to visit ?" 

" Oh no," said Bill, " I haint got a relation on the 
face of the arth, as I know on. I never had any 
father, nor mother, nor brother, nor sister. An old 
aunt, that I lived with when I was a little boy, was 
all the mother that ever I had ; and she died when I 
was on my last fishing cruise ; and there was n't nobody 
left that I cared a stiver for, so I thought I might as 
well haul up line and be off. So I took to foreign 
viges at once, and since that I have been all round the 
West Indies, and to England, and France, and Russia, 
and South America, and up the Mediterranean, and 
clear round the Cape of Good Hope to China, and 
the deuce knows where." 

" But you say you haint got no relations up this 
way ?" 

"ISTo." 

" T^or acquaintances nother ?" 

"ISTo." 

" Then, if I may be so bold, what sent you on a 



172 ^WAY D0W2S EAST. 

cruise so fur back in the country, afoot and alone, as 
the gal went to be married ?" 

" Oh, no boldness at all," said Bill ; " ask again, if 
you like. Howsomever," he added, giving a knowing 
wink with one eye, " I come on a piece of business 
of a very particular kind, that I don't tell to every- 
body." 

" I want to know !" said Jonathan, his eyes and 
mouth beginning to dilate a little. " Maybe, if you 
should tell me what 'tis, I might give you a lift about 
it." 

" By the great hocus pocus!" said Bill, looking his 
host full in the face, " K I thought you could, I'd be 
your servant the longest day I live." 

" You don't say so ?" said Jonathan, with increas- 
ing interest ; " it must be something pretty particular 
then. I should like mighty well to know what 'tis. 
Maybe I might help you about it." 

"Well, then," said Bill, "I'll jest ask you one 
question. Do you know anything of an old school- 
master, about in these parts, by the name of Solomon 
Bradman ?" 

" 1^0— why ?" 

" Never heard anything of him ?" said Bill, with 
earnestness. 



i 



THE MONET-DIGGEBS AND OLD NICK. 173 

" E"ot a word," said Jonathan ? " wliy, what about 
him?" 

" It is deuced strange," said Bill, " that I never 
can hear a word of that man. I'd work like a slave 
a whole year for the sake of finding him only one 
hour. I was told, the last he was heard on, he was 
in some of these towns round here, keeping school." 

"Well, I never heard of him before," said Jonathan ; 
"but what makes you so mighty anxious to find him? 
Did you go to school to him once, and have you owed 
him a licking ever since ? Or does he owe you some 
money ?" 

" 'No, I never set eyes on him in my life," said Bill ; 
" but there's nobody in the world I'd give half so 
much to see. And now we've got along so fur, jest 
between you and me, I'll ask you one more question ; 
but I would n't have you name it to anybody for 
nothing." 

" No, by jings," said Jonathan, " if you're a mind 
to tell me, I'll be as whist about it as a mouse." 

" Well, then," said Bill, " I want to know, if you 
know of anybody, that knows how to work hrandy- 
toay .^" 

"Brandy-way? what's that?" said Jonathan. "If 
you mean anybody that can drink brandy-way, 1 



174: 'way down east. 

guess I can show you one," lie continued, .uming to 
a stout, red-faced, blowzy looking man, who sat at his 
right hand at table. "Here's mj neighbor, Asa 
Sampson, I guess can do that are sort of business as 
fast as anybody you can find. Don't you think you 
can, Asa?" 

Asa Sampson was a hard one. He was helping 
Mr. Rider do his haying. He had been swinging the 
scythe, through a field of stout clover, all the fore- 
noon, during which time he had taken a full pint of 
strong brandy, and now had just finished a hearty hot 
dinner. Mr. Sampson's face, therefore, it may well 
be supposed, was already in rather a high glow. But 
at this sudden sally of Mr. Eider, the red in Asa's 
visage grew darker and deeper, till it seemed almost 
ready to burst out into a blue flame. He choked and 
stammered, and tried to speak. And at last he did 
speak, and says he : — 

" Why, yes, Mr. Eider, I giiess so ; and if you'll 
jest bring your brandy bottle on, I'll try to show you 
how well I can do that are sort of business." 

Mr. Eider, thinking his joke upon Asa was rather 
a hard one, as the most ready means of atoning for 
it, called upon Mrs. Eider to bring forward the bottla 
at once. 



J 



THE MOKEY-DIGGEES AND OLD NICK. 175 

" Come," said Mr. Eider, " let's take a drop," turn- 
ing out a glass himself, and tlien passing tlie bottle to 
the sailor and Mr. Sampson. 

jL 

" I can drink brandy all weathers," said Bill Stan- 
wood, filling np a good stiff glass ; " bnt if I conld 
only jest find somebody that conld show me how to 
work brandy-way, I should rather have it than all 
the brandy that ever was made in the world." 

" But what do you mean by this brandy-way yon 
talk about ?" said Jonathan. " Seems to me that's a 
new kind of a wrinkle ; I don't understand it." 

" Why, I mean," said Bill, '' I want to know how 
to measure brandy-way ; that is, how to measure off 
so many rods on the ground brandy-way. I never 
heard of but one man that fully understood it, and 
that was Master Bradman ; and I've been told that he 
knew it as well as he did the multiplication table. 
I've been hunting for that man a fortnight, all ro^:nd 
in these towns about here, and it's plaguey strange I 
can't hear nothing of him." 

" Well, I don't know anything about your measur- 
ing brandy-way," said Jonathan, " and as for Master 
Bradman, I'm sure there haint nobody by that name 
kept school in this town these twenty years. For I've 
lived here twenty years, and know every schoolmaster 



176 'way down east. 

that's kept school here since I came into the town 
But, if I may be so bold, what make yoii so anxious 
to learn about this brandy-way busin :sss ?" 

" Why, I've reasons enough," said Bill ; " I'll tell 
you what 'tis, shipmate," he added, ; iying Jonathan 
a familiar slap on the shoulder, " if I could only learn 
how to measure fifteen rods brandy- vay, I would n't 
thank king George to be my grandl xther. I should 
have as much money as I should v ant, if I should 
live to be as old as Methusaleh." 

" You don't say so ?" said Jonath m, his eyes evi- 
dently growing larger at the recital. " I should like 
mighty well to know how that's dou' ." 

"Well, I should a good deal rathe : see the money 
than hear about it," said Asa Samj 5on, whose ideas 
were somewhat waked up by the effe( ts of the brandy. 

" Then you don't believe it, do you ?" said. Bill. " I 
could convince you of it in five minu :es, if I'd a mind 
to ; for I've got the evidence of it in my pocket. If 
I could only measure brandy- way, ! know where I 
could go and dig up lots and lots of : aoney, that have 
been buried in the earth by pirates." 

" Are you in arnest ?" said Jonath ^n. 

" To be sure I am ; I never was more in arnest in 
my life." 



1 



THE MONEY-DIGGEKS AND OLD NICK. 177 

" Well, now do tell us all about it, for if it's true, 
and you'll give me a share of it, I would n't valley 
taking my old horse and wagon, and going round a 
few days with you to help hunt up Master Bradman. 
And if we can't find him, perhaps we can find some- 
body else that knows how to do it. But do you know 
pretty near where the money is ?" 

" Yes, I know within fifteen rods of the very 
spot." 

" And you are sure there's money buried there ?" 

" Yes, I'm sure of it. I've got the documents here 
in my pocket that tells all about it. I'm most tired of 
hunting alone for it, and, if you're a mind to take 
hold and follow it up with me, I've a good mind 
to let you into the secret, and let you go snacks with 
me ; for, somehow or other, I kind of take a liking 
to you, and don't believe I shall find a cleverer fellow 
if I sail the world over." 

" That's what you wont," said Mrs. Rider, who 

began to feel a strong interest in the conversation of 

the sailor. " I've summered and wintered Mr. Rider, 

and know just what he is ; and I don't think you'll 

find anybody that would help you more in looking 

for the money, or any cleverer man to have a share 

of it after you've found it." 

8* 



178 'way down east. 

" Well, that's jest what 1 want," said Bill ; " so, if 
you say so, it's a bargain." 

"Well, I say so," said Jonathan; "now let's see 
your documents." 

Bill Stan wood deliberately drew from his pocket an 
old rusty pocket-book, carefully tied together with a 
piece of twine. He opened it, and took from its 
inmost fold a paper much worn and soiled. 

" There," said he, "that's the secret charm. That's 
worth more than King George's crown ; if 'twas n't 
for that plaguey little botheration about measuring 
fifteen rods brandy-way. ]N"ow I'll tell you how I 
come by this ere paper. About three years ago, we 
was on a vige round the Cape of Good Hope, and we 
had an old Spanish sailor with us that was a real dark 
faced old bruiser. He was full of odd ways. It 
seemed as if he'd got tired of the world and every 
body in it, and did n't care for nobody nor nothin'. 
And every soul on board almost hated him, he was so 
crabbed-like. At last he was took sick, and grew 
very bad. Day after day he lay in his berth, and 
only grew worse. The captain used to send him some 
medicine every day, but never would go near him, 
and none of the hands didn't go nigh him, only jest 
to hand him the medicine when the captain sent it 



THE monp:y-di(igeks and old nick. 179 

Ajid he would take the medicine without saying a 
word, and then lay down again, and you wouldn't 
know but what he was dead all day, if it wasn't onco 
in a while you would hear him fetch a hard breath, 
or a groan. I began to pity him, and I went and 
stood, and looked on him. The cold sweat stood in 
drops on his forehead, he was in so much distress. 
And says I, ' Diego, can't I do something for you V 
And I s'pose I looked kind of pitiful on him, for he 
opened his eyes and stared in my face a minute, as if 
he heard some strange sound, and then the tears 
come into his eyes, and his chin quivered, and says 
he, 

" ' Bill, if you'll only jest get me a drink of cold 
water, for I'm all burning up inside.' 

" And I went and got him some water, and he 
drinked it, and it seemed to revive him a little. And 
says he to me, 'Bill, I'm jest going off upon my last 
long vige.' And then he ^nt his hand in his pocket, 
and took out this very paper, and handed it to me ; 
and says he, 

" ' I meant to have kept this in my pocket, and let 
it be throwed with my old carcase into the sea ; but 
you have been kind to me, and you may have it ; and 
if ever you go into that part of the world agam, it 



1.80 'WAY DOWN EAST. 

will show you where you can get as nuch money as 
yon want.' 

" That night poor Diego die(i, ai 1 we took and 
wrapped him in his blanket, and pn a stone to his 
feet, and threw him overboard ; and iat was the end 
of poor Diego." 

" Poor sonl," said Mrs. Eider, brus ling a tear from 
her eye, "how conld you bear to t irow him over- 
board?" 

" Oh, we could n't do nothin' else with him, away 
oli there to sea. When a poor fellov dies a thousand 
miles from land, there's no other v ay but to souse 
him over, and let him go. I pitied t ;e creetur at the 
last, but no doubt he'd been a wick( i wretch, and I 
suppose had lived among pirates. I .e had scars on 
his face and arms, that showed he' l been in some 
terrible battles." 

"Well, what was in the paper?'' said Jonathan, 
beginning to grow a little impatient fo the documents. 

" I'll read it to you," said Bill. 

So saying, he opened the paper, wh ch was so much 
worn at the folds as to drop into se^ eral pieces, and 
read from it as follows : — 

In *\e name of Captain Kidd^ Amtn. — On Jewell's 



THE MONEY DIGGERS AND OLD NICK. 181 

Island, near the harbor of Falmouth, in the District 
of Maine, is buried a large iron pot full of gold, with 
an iron cover over it, and also two large iron pots full 
of silver dollars and half dollars, with iron covers 
over them ; and also one other large iron pot, with an 
iron cover over it, full of rich jewels, and gold rings 
and necklaces, and gold watches of great value. In 
this last pot is the paper containing the agreement of 
the four persons who buried these treasures, and the 
name of each one is signed to it with his own blood. 
In that agreement it is stated that this property 
belongs equally to the four persons who buried it, and 
is not to be dug up or disturbed while the whole four 
are living, except they be all present. And in case it 
shall not be reclaimed during the lifetime of the four, 
it shall belong equally to the survivors, who shall be 
bound to each other in the same manner as the four 
were bound. And in case this property shall never 
be dug up by the four, or any of them, the last survi- 
vor shall have a right to reveal the place where it is 
hid, and to make such disposition of it as he may 
think proper. And in that same paper, the evil spirit 
of darkness is invoked to keep watch over this 
money, and to visit with sudden destruction any one 
of the foul w^lio may violate his agreement. This 



182 ' W A r DOWN EAST. 

property was buried at the hour of midnight, and only 
at the hour of midnight can it ever be reclaimed. 
And it can be obtained only in the most profound 
silence on the part of those who are digging for it. 
IsTot a word or syllable must be uttered from the time 
the fii'st spade is struck in the ground, till a handful 
of the money is taken out of one of the pots. This 
arrangement was entered into with the spirit of dark- 
ness, in order to prevent any unauthorized persons 
from obtaining the money. I am the last survivor of 
the four. If I shall dispose of this paper to any one 
before my death, or leave it to any one after I am 
gone, he may obtain possession of this great treasure 
by observing the following directions. Go to the 
north side of the island, where there is a little cove, 
or harbor, and a good landing on a sandy beach. 
Take your compass and run by it due south a half a 
mile, measuring from high-water mark. Then run 
fifty rods east by compass, and there you will find a 
blue stone, about two feet long, set endwise into the 
ground. From this stone, measure fifteen rods 
brandy-way, and there, at the depth of five feet from 
the surface of the ground, you will find the pots of 
money. (Signed) 

Ddego Zevola. 



THE MONET-DiaGEEfcj AND OLD iUCK. 183 

Wlien Bill Stanwood had finislied rea<.ling his 
* document,' there was silence in the room for the 
epace of two minutes. Jonathan's eyes were fixed in 
a sort of bewildered amazement upon the sailor, and 
Mrs. Rider's were riveted intently upon her husband ; 
while Asa Sampson's were rolling about with a strange 
wildness, and his mouth was stretched open wide 
enough to swallow the brandy bottle whole. At last, 
says Bill, 

" There you have it in black and white, and there's 
no mistake about it. It's all as true as the book of 
Genesis. I've been on to the ground, and I've 
measured off the half a mile south, and I've measurer 
the fifty rods east, and I've found the blue stone, bu* 
how to measure the fifteen rods brandy- way, I'll die 
iflcantelL" 

" Well, that's a tremendous great story," said Asa 
Sampson ; " but, according to my way of thinking, 1 
should rather have it in black and white, than to 
have it in red and white. Somehow or other, I never 
should want to have anything to do with papers that 
are sieined with men's blood. I should n't like to be 
handling that paper that's buried up in one of them 
pots." 

" Poh, that paper's nothing to us," said Bill ; " we 



184 'way down east. 

did n't write it. I should as lives take that paper up 
and read it, as to read the prayer-book." 

" Mercy on ns," said Mrs. Kider ; " read a paper 
that's writ with men's blood, and when the old !Nick 
is set to watch it too ? I would n't do it for all the 
world, and husband shan't do it neither." 

"But does it say we must have anything to do 
with the paper, in order to get the money?" said 
Jonathan. 

" E'ot a word," said Bill. " I tell you that paper 
has no more to do with us, than it has with the man 
in the moon." 

" But," said Mrs. Rider, " it does say the old evil 
one is set there to watch the money. And do you 
think I'd have my husband go and dig for money 
right in the face and eyes of old Nick himself? I 
should rather be as poor as Job's cat all the days of 
my life." 

" There's no trouble about that," said Bill ; " all 
we've got to do is to hold oui* tongues, while we're 
digging, and the old feller '11 keep his distance, and 
won^t say a word to us. At any rate, I'm determined 
to have the money, if I can find it, devil or nu 
devil. 

"Bui that confounded brandy-way, I don't know 



THE MONEY-DIGGERS AND OLD NICK. 185 

iiow to get over tliat. That's worse thaii forty Old 
l^icks to get along with." 

"Well, I'll tell jou what 'tis," said Jonathan, "if 
jon can get within fifteen rods of the money, I can 
find it wHhont any help of yonr brandy-way, that you 
tell about." 

"You can?" said Bi]l, eagerly. 

"Yes; if you'll carry me within fifteen rods of 
where the money is, I'll engage to find the very spot 
where it is buried in less than one hour." 

" You will ?" said Bill, springing on his feet, and 
giving Jonathan a slap on his shoulder, " Can you 
doit? Do tell us how." 

" Yes, I can find it with a mineral rod." 

" What's a mineral rod ?" said Bill. " Now none 
of your humbugs ; but if you can do it, tell us how." 

"There's no humbug about it," said Jonathan, 
tartly. " I know how to work a mineral rod, and I 
believe I can find the money." 

" But what is a mineral rod ?" said Bill. 

"Wliy, don't you know? It's a green crotched 
branch of witch-hazel, cut off about a foot and a halt 
or two foot long. And them that has the power to 
work 'em, takes the erds of the branches in each hand, 
and holds the othei end, where the branches are 



186 WAT DOWN EAST. 

joined together, pointing up to the sky. And when 
they come near where there's minerals, or gold, or 
silver, bnried in the ground, the rod will bend that 
\v ay ; and when they get right over the spot, the rod 
will bend right down and point towards the ground." 

" Now, is that true ?" said Bill. 

" True ? yes, every word of it. I've seen it done 
many a time, and I've done it myself. The mineral 
rod won't work in everybody's hands, but it '11 work 
in mine, and once I found a broad-axe by it that was 
lost in the meadow." 

" Well, then," said Bill, " let us be off forthwith, 
and not let that money lie rusting in the ground any 
longer. Why not start off to-night ?" 

" Well, I don't know but we could start towards 
night," said Jonathan ; " but I shall have to go out 
first and hunt up a witch-hazel tree to get some 
mineral rods." 

" It's my opinion," said Asa Sampson, " you had 
better wait a day or two, and finish getting in your 
hay before you go ; for if you should come back with 
your wagon fiHed vvith money, you'll be too confound- 
3d lazy ever to get it in afterwards." 

" No, you shan't stir one step," said Mrs. Eider |i 
" till that hay is all got in. There's two loads out 



THE MONEY-DIGGERS AND OLD NICK. 187' 

tliat's made enough to get in now, and yon know 
there's as much as one load to mow yet." 

Mrs. Eider's will was all the law or gospel there 
was about the house. Of course her husband did not 
undertake to gainsay her dictum, but told Bill they 
could not possibly get ready to start before the next 
night, as that hay would have to be taken care of 
first. 

"Well, then," said Bill, "call all hands, and let's, 
go at it. Come, where's your scythe ? I'll go and 
finish mowing that grass down in the first place." 

" But can you mow ?" said Jonathan, doubtingly. 

" Mow ? I guess you'd think so, if you should see 
me at it. I worked on a farm six weeks once, when 
I was a boy, and learnt to pull every rope in the 
ship." 

All hands repaired to the field. Bill Stanwood took 
a scythe and went to thrashing about as though he 
were killing rattlesnakes. He soon battered up one 
scythe against the rocks, and presently broke another 
by sticking it into a stump. It was then agreed that 
he should change works witli Asa Sampson, and help 
get the hay into the barn, while Asa mowed. The 
business then went on briskly. The boys and girls 
wei'e out spreading and raking hay, and Mrs. Rider 



188 'way down east. 

herself went on to the mow in the barn to help stow 
it away. The next day the ha}dng was finished, and 
all things were in preparation to start for Jewell's 
Island. Mrs. Rider, however, whose imagination had 
been excited by the idea of Old ISTick being set to 
guard the money, was still unwilling her husband 
should go ; and it was not till he had solemnly 
promised to bring her home a new silk gown, and a 
new pair of morocco shoes, and some stuff to make 
her a new silk bonnet, that she finally gave her con- 
sent. When the matter was finished, she took a large 
firkin and filled it with bread and cheese, and boiled 
beef, and doughnuts, for them to eat on their way ; 
and Bill said there was a great plenty to last till they 
got down to the pots of money, and after that they 
could buy what they wanted. 

Asa Sampson, who was at work for Mr. Hider, 
agreed to go with them for his regular daily pay, with 
this proviso : if they got the money, they were to 
make him a present outright of a hundred dollars, 
which he said would be as much money as he should 
ever know what to do with. 

As a parting caution, Mrs. Rider charged them to | 
remember and not speak while they were digging, • 
and t'^ld them, lest some word might slip out before 



THE MONEY-Dia&ERS AND OLP NICK. 189 

they tliouglit of it^ they had better each of them tie a 
handkerchief over their mouths when they begun to 
dig, and not take it off till they got down to the 
money. They all agreed that it would be an excel- 
lent plan, and they would certainly do it. 

Mr. Rider's old horse was tackled into the wagon 
the baggage was put on board, and the three fortune 
hunters jumped in and drove off for Falmouth. It 
was a long and lonesome road, but the bright visions 
of the future, that were dancing before their eyes, 
made it seem to them like a journey to Paradise. 

" E"ow, Mr. Rider," said Bill, " what do you mean 
to do with your half of the money, when we get it ?" 

'' Well, I think I shall take two thousand dollars of 
it," said Jonathan, "and buy Squire Dickinson's 
farm, that lives next neighbor to me. He's always 
looked down upon me with a kind of contempt, be- 
cause I was n't so well off in the world as he was ; and 
I should like mighty well to get him out of the neigh- 
borhood. And I guess he's drove for money too, and 
would be glad to sell out. And now, neighbor Stan- 
wood, I'll tell you what I think you better do. You 
better buy a good farm right up there alongside of 
me, and we'll build each of us a large nice house, just 
ali^ke, and get each of us a first.rate horse, and we'll 



190 'way down east. 

live together there, and ride about and take com- 
fort'' 

" By the hocus pocus !" said Bill, " I hope yon don't 
call that taking comfort. 'No, none of your land- 
lubber viges for me. I'll tell you what imean to do. 
As soon as I get my money I mean to go right to 
Boston and buy the prettiest ship I can find — one 
that will ^ail like the wind — ^and I'll have three 
mates, so I shan't have to stand no watch, but go 
below just when I like ; and I'll go cap'n of her, and 
go away up the Mediterranian, and up the Baltic. 
And then I'll make a vige straight round the world, 
and if I don't beat Captain Cook all to nothin', I think 
it's a pity. And now you better sell out your old 
farm up there among the bushes, and go with me. 
I'll tell you what 'tis, shipmate, you'd take more com- 
fort in one month aboard a good vessel, than you 
could on a farm in a w^hole year. T\^hat comfort is 
there to be found on a farm, where you never see any 
thing new, but have the same thing over and over 
forever? No variety, no change but everything 
always the same — I should get as tired as death in a 
month." 

" Well, now, neighbor," said Jonathan, " you are 
as much mistaken, as if you had burnt your shirt 



^ 



THE MONET-DIGGEKS AND OLD NICK. 191 

There's no business in the world that has so mitch 
variety and so many new things all the time, as 
farming. In the first place, in the spring comes 
ploughing time, and then comes planting time, and 
after that hoeiftg and weeding ; and then comes haying 
time ; and then reaping time ; and then getting in the 
corn and potatoes. And then, to fill up with a little 
fun once in a while, we have sheep washi^ig in the 
spring, and huskings in the fall, and breaking out the 
roads after a snow storm in the winter ; and some- 
thing or other new most all the time. When your 
crops are growing, even your fields look new every 
morning ; while at sea you have nothing new, but 
the same things over and over, every day from morn- 
ing till night. You do nothing but sail, sail, all the 
time, and have nothing to look at but water from one 
week's end to another." 

Here Bill Stanwood burst into a broad loud laugh, 
and savs he : — ■ 

" "Well done, shipmate. I must say you are the 
greenest horn I've met with this long time. 'No 
variety and nothing new to be seen in going to sea I 
K that aint a good one ! The very place, too, to see 
everything new and to learn everything that there 
is in the world. Why, only jest in working the ship 



192 'way down east. 

there's more variety and more to bo seen than there 
IS in working a whole farm, to say nothing about going 
all over the world, and seeing everything else. Even 
in a dead calm you can see the whales spouting and 
the porpoises rolling about. And wheR the wind is 
slack, you have enough to do to stick on your canvas. 
You run up your topgallan-sels, and your rials, and 
out with l^nv studden-sels, and trim your sheets, and 
make all the sails draw. And then you walk the 
deck and watch the changes of the wind, and if a 
vessel heaves in sight what a pleasure there is in 
taking your spy-glass and Watching her motions till 
she's out of sight again ; or, if she comes near enough, 
how delightful 'tis to hail her and learn where she's 
from, and where she's bound, and what her captain's 
name is ! And when it comes on a blow, what a 
stirring time there is ! All hands are out to take in 
the light sails ; down goes the topgallan' yards ; and 
if the wind increases you begin to reef; and if it 
comes on to blow a real snorter, you furl all sails and 
scud away under bare poles. And sometimes, when 
the storm is over, you come across some poor fellows 
on a wreck, half starved or half froze to death, and 
then you out with your boat and go and take 'em off, 
and nurse 'em up and bring 'em to. ISTow here's some 



THE MONEY-DIGGEES AND OLD NICK. 193 

Jife in all this business, some variety, and something 
interesting, com oared with what there is on a farm. 
You better pull up stakes when we get our money, 
sell your old farii and go to sea along with me." 

"Well," said Jonathan, "I'll tell you what 'tis 
neighbor, I'll leave it out to Mr. Sampson here to say 
which is the best and pleasantest business, farming or 
going to sea. If he says farming, you shall pay the 
toddy at the next tavern, and if he says going to sea, 
ril pay it." 

"Done," said BiU.' "Now, Asa, give us your 
opinion." 

" "Well," said Asa, " all I can say is, if going to sea 
isn't pleasanter b iisiness than farming there isn't much 
pleasure in it, thit's all." 

" But that aint deciding anything at all," said Bill ; 
" you must tell U3 right up and down which is the best 
business." 

" Well, if I must say," said Asa, " I should say 
going to sea was the best and the pleasantest." 

" There, I told you so," said Bill. " Now how fur 
is it to the next tavern? I want that toddy." 

"It's jest to tlie top of this hill," said Jonathan: 
" and bein' the hill's pretty steep, we'll jump out and 
walk up, and give the old horse a chance to breathe." 



194 *WAT DOWN EAST. 

So out they jumped, and Jonathan drore the horse 
up the hill, while Bill and Asa loitered along a little 
behind. 

" How upon arth," said Bill, " come jou to decide 
in favor of going to sea ? Did you ever go to sea ?" 

" I ? 1^0 I never set foot aboard a vessel in all my 
Hfe." 

'' Then how come you to know so much about going 
to sear 

" Poh !" said Asa^ " all I knew about it was, I knew 
Mr. Kider had some money, and I knew you had n't, 
and I wanted the toddy. How could I decide any 
other way ?" 

" True enough," said Bill ; " you was exactly right." 

When they reached the tavern, Mr. Rider paid the 
toddy, and, after giving the old horse a little proven- 
der and a little time to breathe, the trio pursued their 
journey with renewed spirits and livelier hopes. 
When they reached the sea-shore at Falmouth, the 
sun was about an hour high. They immediately hired 
a small row boat for two or three days, leaving their 
horse and wagon in pawn for it, and prepared to 
embark for Jewell's Island, which was about ten miles 
distant. Jonathan was a little fearful about being out 
apon the water in the night, and was for waiting till 



THE MONEY-DIGGEKS AND OLD NICK. 195 

next morning and taking the day before them for the 
voyage to the island. But Bill said no, " they could 
go half the distance before sunset, and as there was a 
good moon, there would be no difficulty in going the 
other half after sunset ; and he was determined to be 
on the island that night, let the consequence be what 
'twould." 

They accordingly put their baggage on board, and 
jumped in, and rowed off. Bill first took the helm, 
and Jonathan and Asa sat down to the oars. But 
being totally unaccustomed to a boat, they made sad 
work of rowing, and in spite of all of Bill's teaching 
and preaching, scolding and swearing, their oars 
splashed up and down alternately in the water, resem- 
bling more in their operation two flails upon the barn 
floor than two oars upon the ocean. Their little bark 
made but slow headway, and Bill soon got out of 
patience, and told Jonathan to take the helm and he 
would row himself. Jonathan, however, succeeded 
no better at the helm than at the oar ; for the boat 
was soon heading in all directions, and making as 
crooked a track as was ever made by the veritable 
sea-serpent himself So that Bill was obliged to call 
Jonathan from the helm, and manage to keep the boat 
as straight as he could by lowing. The slow progress 



196 'way down east. 

they made under all these disadvantages brought it to 
midnight before they reached the island. They how- 
ever succeeded at last in gaining the little harbor, and 
it being about high water they drew their boat upon 
the beach, and walked up on the island towards a 
fisherman's hut, which Bill had frequented upon his 
former visit to the place. The moon had set, and the 
night was now somewhat dark. As they wound their 
way along through the bushes and under the tall trees, 
not a sound was to be heard, save the low sullen roar 
of the ocean, which came like delicious music to the 
ears of Bill Stanwood, while to Jonathan and Asa it 
added a still deeper gloom to the silence and dark- 
ness of the night. 

They had walked but a short distance when a dim 
light glittered through the trees, and told them that 
the fisherman's hut was near. 

" Ah," said Bill, " old Mother Kewbegin is up. 1 
believe she never goes to bed ; for go there what time 
of night you will, you wAl always find her padding 
about the room with an old black night-cap on, putting 
dishes to rights in the closet, or sweeping up the floor, 
or sitting down and mending her husband's clothes. 
She looks more like a witch than she does like ^ 
humar creetur, and sometimes I've almost thought 



THE MONET-DIGGERS AND OLD NICK. 197 

she had something to do about guarding the money 
that's buried on the island." 

" Well, ain't there some other house about here," 
said Asa, " that we can go to ? Somehow, it seems to 
me I should n't like to get quite so near that old hag, 
if there's any witchcraft about her." 

" There's no other house very near," said Bill ; 
" and, besides, I think it's best to go in and see old 
Mother Newbegin. For if she is a witch, it's no use 
to try to keep out of the way of her ; and if we keep 
the right side of her and don't get her mad, maybe 
she may help us a little about finding the money." 

They approached the house, and as they passed the 
little low window, they saw by the red light of a pitch 
knot, that was burning on the hearth, the old woman 
sitting and roasting coffee, which she was stirring 
with a stout iron spoon. They stopped a little and 
reconnoitered. The glare of the light fell full on the 
old woman'? face, showing her features sharp and 
wrinkled, her skin brown, and her eyes black and fiery. 
Her chin was leaning on one hand, and the other was 
busily employed in stirring the coffee, while she was 
talking to herself with a solemn air, and apparently 
with much earnestness. Her black night-cap was on, 
and fastened with a piece of twine under her chin, 



198 'way down east. 

and the tight sleeves of her frock sat close to her long 
bony arms, while her bare feet and bird-claw toes 
projected out in full view below the bottom of her dress. 

" I swow," said Asa, "I believe she has got a cloven 
foot. Let's be off ; I should rather go back and sleep 
in the boat than to go in here to-night." 

" Poh !" said Bill, " that's only the shadow of her 
foot you see on the floor ; she has n't got any more of 
a cloven foot than you have. Come, I'm going in 
whether or no." 

With that he gave a loud rap at the door. 

" Who's there ?" screamed the old woman. 

" A friend," said Bill. 

" Well, who be ye ? What's your name ? I shan't 
open the door till I know who you be." 

" Bill Stanwood," said the sailor. 

" Oh, is it you. Bill ? Come in then," said the old 
woman unfastening the door, and throwing it open. 

" So you're after money again, aint ye ?" said the 
old woman, as they entered the house ; " and 'you've 
brought these two men with you to help you, and 
that's what you are here for this time of night." 

" I swow," said Asa, whispering to Bill Stanwood, 
" let's be off, slie knows all about it." 

" Hold your tongue, you fool," said Bill ; " if she 



THE MONET-DIGGERS AND OLD NICK. 199 

knows all about us we may as well be here as any 
where else." 

Asa trembled a little, but finally took a seat on a 
bench near tile door, ready to run, in case matters 
should grow desperate. 

" Well," said the old woman, " if you get the money, 
you'll have to work hard for it. There's been a good 
many tried for it before you ; and there's been two 
men here hunting all over the island since you was 
here before. They dug round in a good many places, 
and my old man thinks they found some, for they 
give him half a dollar for fetching their boat back 
when she went adrift, and he said the half dollar was 
kind of rusty, and looked as though it had been buried 
in the ground. But I've no idea they got a dollar. 
It isn't so easy a matter ; Old !N"ick takes better care 
of his money than all that comes to." 

" Where is your old man," said Bill. " Seems to 
me he's always away when I come." 

"The Lord knows where he is," said the old 

woman; "he's been out a fishing this three days, and 

was to a been home last night. I've been down to the 

-^hore three times to day to see if his boat was in sight, 

>ut could n't see nothin' of him." 

" Well, aint you afraid he's lost ?" said Bill. 



200 'way down east. 

"What! old Mike Newbegin, m} old man, lost? 
'No, not he. The wind always favo -s him when ho 
gets ready to come home, let it he blowing which 
way 'twill. If it's blowing right def d ahead, and he 
pulls up anchor and starts for hone, it will come 
round in ^ve minutes and blow a fair wind till he 
gets clear into the harbor." 

Here Asa whispered to Bill again, declaring his 
opinion that the old woman was a T/itch, if nothing 
worse, and proposing to leave the house and seek 
shelter for the night somewhere else But Bill reso- 
lutely opposed all propositions of the kind, and Asa, 
Deing too timid to go alone, was compelled to stay 
and make the best of it." 

" Well, come, old lady," said Bill, " you can give 
us a berth to lay down and take a nap till morning." 

" Why, yes," said the old womac , " there's room 
enough in 'tother room. If anybody wants to sleep, 
I always let 'em, though, for my j>art, I can't see 
what good it does 'em. I think it's throwing away 
time. I don't think there's any need of any body's 
sleeping more than once or twice a week, and then 
not more than an hour at once ; an h )ur of sleep is a» 
good as a month at any time." 

This strange doctrine about sleep caused Asa'« 



THE MONEY-DIGGERS AND OLD NICK. 201 

knees to tremble worse than ever, as he followed Bill 
and Jonathan into the other room, where thej found 
a matti'ess of straw and some blankets, and laid down 
to rest. PUl and Jonathan soon fell into a comfort- 
able snore , bnt Asa thought if there was no sleep for 
Mother ISTewbegin there was none for him. At least 
h§ felt little inclined to trust himself asleep in the 
house while she was awake. A ccordingly he turned 
and rolled from side to side, for two long hours, but 
could get no rest. He sat up in bed. By a crack 
under the door he perceived there was a faint light 
still glimmering in the other room. He walked softly 
towards the door and listened. He could occasion- 
ally hear the catlike footsteps of the old woman pad* 
ding across the floor. Once he thought she came 
close to the door, and he drew back lightly on his tip- 
toes to the bedside. He wondered how Bill and 
Jonathan could sleep so quietly, and stepping to the 
other side of the room, he seated himself on a chest 
by a loT/ window containing three panes of seven by 
nine glass, the rest of the space being filled up with 
boards. Here he sat ^-evolving over in his mind the 
events of the day, and of the night thus far, and more 
and mor« wishing himself safely at home, money or 

no money The night was still dark and gloomy, bnt 

9* 



202 'way down east. 

he could now and tlien see a star as he looked from 
the little window, and — 

Oft to the east his weary eyes he cast, 

And wish'd the lingering dawn would glimmer forth at last. 

And at last it did glimmer forth ; and presently the 
grey twilight began to creep into the room, and trees, 
and bushes, and rocks, as he looked from the window, 
began to appear with distinctness. Asa roused his 
companions, and they prepared to sally forth for their 
day's enterprise. In leaving the house, they had to 
go through the room in which they had left mother 
l^ewbegin when they retired. On entering this room 
they found the old woman appearing precisely as they 
had left her, gliding about like a spirit, apparently 
busy, though they could hardly tell what she was 
doing. She seemed a little surprised at their rising 
so early, and told them if they would wait half an 
hour she would have some breakfast for them. They 
gave her many thanks, but told her they had provi- 
sions with them, and, as their business was important, 
they must be moving. 

" Ah, that money, that money," said the old woman 
shaking her head ; " look out sharp, or Old Nick will 
Ukakc a supper of one of you to-night " 



THE MONET-DIGGERS AND OLD NICK. 203 

The party left the house and started for the little 
harbor. Asa seemed rather wild at this last remark 
of the old woman, and looked back over his shoulder 
as thej departed, till they had gone several rods from 
the house. When they reached the harbor, they 
found the boat and all things as they had left them, 
and proceeded forthwith to commence the important 
work of the day. They set their compass at high- 
water mark at the highest point of the harbor, and 
took a rod pole and measured off half a mile from 
that point due south. They then set their compass at 
this place and measured off fifty rods due east. And 
here they found the blue stone, as described in the 
" documents " which Bill Stanwood had received 
from the pirate. The eyes of the whole party bright- 
ened as they came to it. 

" There 'tis," said Bill, " so fm*, exact as I told you, 
aint it?" 

" Yes, fact, to a hair's breadth," said Jonathan. 

" Well, now if you can get the fifteen rods brandy- 
way, you'll find the rest jest as I told you," said BilL 

They then measured of fifteen rods from the blue 
Btone in various directions, and set up little stakes, 
forming a sort o ' circle round the stone at fifteen rods 
distance from it. 



204r 'way down east. 

" ^ow," said Jonathan, " I'll take my mineral rod 
and walk round on this ring, and if tl e money is here 
I shall find the spot." 

He then took his green crotched wi'. ch-hazel bough, 
and holding the top ends of the twige in his hand, so 
that the part where they joined wouli point upward, 
began his mysterious march round the circle, while 
Bill and Asa walked, one on each side of him, at a 
little distance, and watched the mineral rod. Some- 
times it would seem to incline a litl le one way, and 
sometimes a little the other, but noth :ng very remark- 
able occurred till they had gone abort three-quarters 
round the circle, when the rod seeme 1 to be agitated 
somewhat violently, and began to lend perceptibly 
towards the ground, and at last it bei t directly down- 
wards. 

" There," said Jonathan, " do you see that ? My 
gracious, how strong it pulls I Here s the place for 
bargains ; drive down a stake." 

" 1 swow," said Asa, " I never see the like of that 
before. I begin to think there's L^omething m it 
now." 

"Something in it!" said Bill Staawood, slappmg 
his hands together ; " did n't I tell you if we could 
only find tte fifteen rode brandy-A7ay, I wouldn't 



THE MONEY-DIGGERS AND OLD NICK. 205 

thank King George to be my grandfather ? Now, Mr. 
Rider, jest hand out youi- brandy bottle. We have n't 
had a drop to-day ; and since we've worked brandy- 
way so well your way, I should like now to work it 
in Asa's way a little." 

" I second that motion," said Asa, " for I'm as dry 
as a herrin'." 

They accordingly took a social drink of brandy and 
water, and drank health and success to him who 
should first hit the pot of money ; and having sat 
down under a tree and eaten a hearty meal from their 
basket, they returned to mother Newbegin's to pre- 
pare for the labors of the coming night. They 
brought from their boat three shovels, a pick-axe, and 
a crowbar. Tlie old woman eyed these preparations 
askance, and as she turned away, Asa thought he 
could discern on her features the deep workings of a 
suppressed laugh. The afternoon wore away slowly, 
for they were impatient to behold their treasures ; and 
twice they walked to the spot, which was to be the 
scene of their operations, to consult and decide on 
the details to be observed. They concluded, in order 
to be sure of hitting the pots, it would be best to 
make their excavation at least ten or twelve feet in 
diameter, and in order to afford ample time to get 



206 'way down east. 

down to tlieiii at about midniglit, tliey decided co 
commence operations soon after dark. 

" And now, about not speaking after we begin to 
dig," said Bill ; " liow shall we work it about that ? 
for. you know, if one of us happens to speak a word, 
the jig is uj) with us." 

" I think the safest way would be," said Asa, " to 
cut our tongues out, and then we shall be sure not to 
speak. Howsomever, whether we cut oui* tongues 
out or not, if yon won't speak, I'll promise you I 
won't ; for I've no idea of giving the old feller a 
chance to carry me off, I can tell you." 

" Well," said Jonathan, " I guess we better tie 
some handkerchiefs tight round our mouths, as my 
wife said, and we shan't be so likely to forget our- 
selves." 

This arrangement was finally concluded upon, and 
they returned to the house. That night they took 
supper with mother ISTewbegin, and endeavored, by 
paying her a liberal sum for the meal, and by various 
acts of courtesy, to secure her good graces. She 
seemed more social than she had been before, and 
even, at times, a sort of benevolent expression 
beamed from her countenance, which caused Asa to 
pluck up a comfortable degree of courage. But 



THE MONEY-DIGGERS AND OLD NICK. 207 

when it became dark, and they shouldered their tools 
to depart, the old woman fixed her sharp eyes upon 
them with such a wild sort of a look, that Asa began 
to cringe and edge along towards the door, and when 
she added, with a grave shake of the head, that they 
had better look out sharp, or the Old ISTick would have 
them before morning, his knees trembled, and he 
once more w^ished himself at home. 

The party arrived at the spot. And first, according 
to previous arrangements, they tied handkerchiefs 
over their mouths. They then measured a circle 
round the stake, of twelve feet in diameter, and took 
their shovels and commenced throwing out the earth. 
The night was still and calm, and though the atmos- 
phere was not perfectly clear, the starlight was suffi- 
cient to enable them to pursue their labors with 
facility. They soon broke ground over the whole 
area which they had marked out, and diligently, 
shovelful by shovelful, they raised the gravelly soil 
and threw it beyond the circle. In half an hour they 
had sunk their whole shaft nearly two feet, and were 
getting along so far quite comfortably, with bright 
hopes and tolerably quiet nerves. 'No sound Iroke 
upon the stilness around them, save the sound of 
their own shovels against the stones and gravel, and 



208 'way down east. 

the distant roar of the chaj&ng ocean. But at this 
moment there rose a w ild and powerful wind, which 
brushed down upon them like a tornado. The trees 
bent and quivered before it, the leaves flew, and dust 
and gravel, and light substances on the ground, were 
whirled into the air, and carried aloft and abroad 
with great rapidity. Among the rest, Asa Sampson's 
straw hat was snatched from his head and flew away 
like a bird in the air. Asa dropt his shovel, and 
sprang from the pit, and gave chase with all his 
might. After following it about fifty rods, it touched 
the ground, and he had the good fortune to catch it. 
He returned to his companions, whom he found stand- 
ing awe-struck, holding their own hats on, and rub- 
bing the dust from their eyes. It was but a few 
minutes, however, before the extreme violence of the 
wind began to abate and they were enabled to pursue 
their labors. Still the wind was wild and gusty. 
They had never known it to act so strangely, or to cut 
up such mad pranks before. Sometimes it would be 
blowing strongly in one direction, and in one minute 
it would change and blow as powerfully in the other ; 
and sometimes it would whisk round and round them 
like a whirlwind, making the gravel they had thrown 
but fly like hailstones. Black, heavy, and angry look- 



THE MONEY-DIGGERS AND OLD NICK. 209 

mg clouds kept floating by, and sometimes they heard 
the distant rumbling of thunder. They had never 
seen such clouds before. They appeared to them like 
huge living animals, that glared at them, as they flew 
over, with a hundred eyes. Asa sometimes thought 
they looked like monstrous great sea-turtles, and he 
fancied he could see huge legs and claws extending 
from their sides ; and once he was just on the point 
of exclaiming to his companions, and telling them to 
look out, or that monstrous turtle would hit them with 
his claw as he went over ; but the handkerchief over 
his mouth checked him, and reminded him that he 
must not speak, and he only sank down close to the 
bank where he was digging. The clouds grew thicker 
and darker, but instead of adding to the darkness of 
the night, they seemed to emit a sort of broken, flick- 
ering twilight, sufficient to enable them to see the 
changes in each other's countenances, and to behold 
pbjects rather indistinctly at some rods' distance. 
Each perceived that the others were pale and trem- 
bling, and each endeavored, by signs and gestures, 
and plying his shovel with firmness and resolution, to 
encourage his fellows to perseverance. 

It was now about eleven o'clock, and having mea- 
pured tlie depth they ha^ gone they found it to be 



210 'way down east. 

good foui- feet. One foot more would bring them to 
the money ; and they fell to work with increased 
vigor. At this moment a heavy crash of thunder 
broke over their heads, and big drops of rain began 
to spatter down. Though nearly stunned by the 
report, they recovered in a minute and pursued their 
labors. The rain increased rapidly, and now began 
to pour down almost in one continued sheet. 
Although the earth below them was loose and open, 
and drank in the water very fast, still so powerfully 
did the rain continue to descend, that in a short time 
they found it standing six inches round their feet- 
One of them now took a pail and dipped out water, 
while the others continued to shovel gravel. Their 
resolution seemed to increase in proportion to the 
obstacles they met, and gravel and water were thrown 
out in rapid succession. The force of the rain soon 
began to abate, and they would in a short time h^ve 
accomplished the other foot of digging, had not the 
loose soil on the sides of the shaft begun to come in by 
means of the wet, and accumulate at the bottom faster 
than they could throw it out. Several times it gained 
upon them, in this way, to the depth of some inches. 
While they were battling with this difficulty, and 
looking up at the bank to see where it would come in 



THE MONEY-DIGGETIS AND OLD NICK. 211 

next, a tremendously great black dog came and stood 
upon the brink, and opened his deep red jaws, and 
began to bark with terrific power. They shrunk 
back from the hideous animal, and raised their shovels 
to fright him off ; but a second thought told them 
they had better let him alone and stick to their work. 
They measured their depth again, and found it in 
some places four feet and a half, and in others almost 
five. They again plied their shovels with all dili- 
gence, and as they stepped to and fro at their work, 
that deep-mouthed dog kept up his deafening bark, 
and leaping round the verge of the pit, and keeping 
on the side nearest them, whenever they approached 

the side to throw out a shovelful of earth, he would 
spring and snap at their heads like a hungry lion. 

Asa seized the pickaxe, partly with a view of defend- 
ing himself against the dog, and partly for the pur- 
pose of striking it down to see if he could hit the 
pots. He commenced driving the sharp point of it 
into the earth, passing round from one side of the pit 
to the other, till at last he hit a solid stone ; and 
striking round for some distance they perceived the 
stone was large and flat. Bill and Jonathan made 
their shovels fly, and soon began to lay the surface of 
+he stone bare. They noticed when they first struck 



212 'way down east. 

tlie stone that the dog began to bark with redoubled 
fierceness, and as they proceeded to uncover it, he 
seemed to grow more and more enraged. As he did 
not jump down into the pit, however, they continued 
to keep out- of his reach and pursue their work. 
Having laid the stone bare, and dug the earth away 
from the edges, they found it to be smooth and flat, 
about four feet squaie, and six or eight inches in 
thickness. They got the crow-bar under one side, 
and found they could pry it up. They gradually 
raised it about six inches, and putting something under 
to hold it, they began, by means of a stick, to explore 
the cavity beneath it. In moving the stick round 
amongst the loose sand under the stone, they soon felt 
four hard round substances, which they were sure 
must be the four iron pots. Presently they were 
enabled to rattle the iron covers, which gave a sound 
that could not be mistaken. At last they got the 
stick under one of the covers and shoved it into the 
pot, and they heard the jingle of money. Each one 
took hold of the stick and tried it ; there was no mis- 
take ; they all poked the money with the stick, and 
they all heard it jingle. All that now remained was 
to remove the great stone. It was very heavy, but 
they seized it with resol ite determination, and all got 



THE MONEY-DIGGEES AND OLD NICK. 213 

hold on one side with the intention of turning it up 
on the edge. They lifted with all their might, and 
were but just able to start it. They however made 
out to raise it slowly till they could rest it a little on 
their knees, where it became stationary. It seemed 
doubtful whether they would possibly be able to raise 
it on the edge, and it seemed almost equally difficult to 
let it down without crushing their own feet. To add 
to their embarrassment, the dog was barking and snap- 
ping more fiercely than ever, and seemed just upon 
the point of springing upon them. At this critical 
moment, a person came up to the edge of the pit, and 
bid the dog " Get out." The dog was hushed, and 
drew back. 

"I say, neighbors," continued the stranger, "shall 
I give you a lift there ?" 

" Yes, quick," said Asa, " I can't hold on another 
minute.'' 

The stranger jumped down behind them and put 
his hand against the stone. In a moment the ponder- 
ous weight of the stone was changed to the lightness 
of a dry pine board, and it flew out of the pit, carry- 
ing the three money diggers with it, head over heels, 
to the distance of two rods. 

They picked themselves up as speedily as they 



214: 'way down east. 

could, and ran for their lives towaids the honso 
"When they arrived thej found mother ITewbegin up, 
as usual, and trotting about the room. They called 
to her and begged her to open the door as quick as 
possible. As the old woman let them in, she fixed 
her sharp eyes upon them and exclaimed, 

" Well, if you've got away alive you may thank 
me for it. I've kept the Bible open for you, and a 
candle burning before it, ever since you left the house ; 
and I knew while the candle was sliining on the Bible 
for you he could n't touch you." 

They were too much agitated to enter into con- 
versation on the subject, and being exceedingly 
exliausted, they laid down to rest, but not to sleep. 
The night passed wearily away, and morning came. 
The weather was clear and pleasant, and after taking 
some refreshments they concluded to repair again to 
the scene of their labors, and see if the money was 
still there and could be obtained. Asa was very 
reluctant to go, " He did n't believe there was a 
single dollar left." But Bill Stanwood was resolute. 
Go tie would. Jonathan said " he might as well die 
one way as another, for he never should dare to go 
home again without carrying his wife's new gown 
and morocco shoes." 



THE MONEf-DIGGEKS AND OLD HICK. 215 

So, after due consultation, they started again for 
tlie monej-iiole. On arriving there, they found their 
tools and the general appearance of the place just as 
they had left them. There was the great flat stone, 
lying about two rods from the pit. And on looking 
into the pit, they observed, under the place where the 
stone had laid, four large round holes in the sand, all 
of which were much stained with iron rust. They 
got down and examined the place. There had evi- 
dently been iron vessels there ; but they were gone, 
money and all. 

"Come," said Asa, "fhis place smells rather too 
strong of brimstone ; let us be going." 



216 'way down east. 



CHAPTEE IX. 

PETEK PUNOTTJAL. 

The names used^in the following narrative are of course fictitious ; 
but the incidents all occurred substantially as here related, and the 
parties are respectable gentlemen recently living and doing busi- 
ness in this bustling city of New York. The writer had the account 
directly from the lips of the principal actor. 

Some few years ago, Peter Punctual, an honest and 
industrious young fellow from Yankee land — I say 
Yankee land, but I freely confess that is merely an 
inference of mine, drawn from circumstances of this 
story itself; but if my readers, after perusing it, do 
not come to the same conclusion, they may set him 
down as coming from any other land they please ; but 
for myself, were I on a jury, and under oath, I would 
bring him in a Yankee. This same Peter Punctual, 
some few years ago, came into New York, and 
attempted to turn a penny and get an honest living by 
procuring subscribers to various magazines and peri- 
odicals, on his own hook. That is, he would receive a 
quantity of magazines from a distant publisher, at a 



PETER PUNCTUAL. 217 

discount, and get up his own list of subscribers about 
the city, and se:'ve them through the year at the 
regular subscrip ion price, which would leave the 
amount of the i aid discount a clear profit in his 
pocket, or rathe* a compensation for his time and 
labor. There ai3 many persons in this city who 
obtain a livelihoc d in the same way. 

Peter's commissions being small, and his capital 
still smaller, he ^7as obliged to transact his business 
with great care a id circumspection, in order to make 
both ends meet. He adopted a rule, therefore, to 
make all his subs 3ribers pay their year's subscription 
in advance. Sue h things could be done in those days 
when business was brisk, and the people were 
strangers to "hi rd times." In canvassing for sub- 
scribers, one day through the lower part of the city 
and in the princ ipal business streets, he observed a 
store which had tie air of doing a heavy business, and 
read upon the sL;n over the door, " Solomon Sharp, 
Importer." The field looked inviting, and in Peter 
went with his saaaples under his arm, and inquired 
for Mr. Sharp. The gentleman was pointed out to 
him by the clerk 3, and Peter stepped up and asked 
him if he would not like to subscribe for some maga- 
zines. 

10 



218 'way down east. 

"What sort of ones have jou got there?'' said 
Mr. S. 

" Three or four different kinds," said Peter, laying 
the specimens on the desk before him — " please to 
look at them and suit yourself." 

Sharp tumbled them over and examined them one 
after another, and at last took up "Buckingham's 
JSTew England Magazine," published at Boston. 

"What are your terms for this?" said he ;. "I don't 
know but I would subscribe for this." 

"Five dollars a year in advance," said Peter, "to 
DO delivered carefully every month at your store or 
house." 

" But I never pay in advance for these things," said 
Sharp. " It's time enough to pay for a thing when 
vou get it. I'll subscribe for it, if you have a mind 
^o receive your pay at the end of the year, and not 
otherwise." 

"That's against my rule," said Peter ; "I have all 
my subscribers pay in advance." 

" Well, it's against my rule to pay for anything 
before I get it," said Shai-p ; "so if you have n't a 
mind to take my subscription, to be paid at the end 
of the year, yon won't get it at all. That's the long 
and tlie short of the matter." 



PETER PUNCTUAL. 219 

Peter paused a little, and queried with liimself as 
to what he had better do. The man was evidently 
doing a large business, and was undoubtedly rich — a 
wholesale dealer and an importer — there could not 
possibly be any danger of losing the subscription in 
such a case : and would it not be better to break over 
his rule for once, than to lose so good a subscriber. 

" Well, what say ?" said Sharp; "do as you like; 
but those are my only terms. I will not pay for a 
thing before I get it." 

" On the whole," said Peter, " I have a good mind 
to break over my rule this time, for I don't like to 
lose a good subscriber when I can find one. I believe 
I'll put your name down, sir. Where will you have 
it left?" 

" At my house," said Mr. Sharp, which was about 
a mile and a half from his store, away up town. 

The business being thus concluded, Peter took up 
his magazines, bade Mr. Sharp good morning, and 
left the store. ISTo further personal intercourse 
occurred between them during the year. But Peter, 
who was his own carrier, as well as canvasser, regu- 
larly every month delivered the l^ew England Maga- 
zine at Mr. Sharp's door. And in a few days after 
the year expired, he made out his bill for the ^ve dol- 



220 'way down east. 

lars, and called at Mr. Sharp's store for tlie inonej^. 
He entered with as much confidence that he should 
receive the chink at once, as he would have had in 
going with a check for the like sum into the Bank of 
the United States, during that institution's palmiest 
days. He found Mr. Sharp at his desk, and presented 
him the bill. That gentleman took it and looked at 
it, and then looked at Peter. 

"Oh! ah, good morning," said he, "jou are the 
young man who called here on this business nearly a 
year ago. Well, the year has come round, has it?" 

" Yes, I believe it has," said Peter. 

"Well, bills of this kind," said Mr. Sharp, "are 
paid at the house. We don't attend to them here ; 
you just take it to the houst, any time when you are 
passing, and it will be settled." 

" Oh, very well, sir," said Peter, bowing, and left 
the store. " Doing too large a business at the store, 
I suppose," he continued, to himself, as he walked up 
the street, "to attend to little things of this kind. 
Don't like to be bothered with 'em, probably." 

But Peter thought he might as well make a finish 
of the business, now he was out ; so he went directly 
to the house, and rung at the door. The servant girl 
soon made her appearance. 



PETER PUNCTUAL. 221 

" Mrs. Sharp within ?" said Peter. 

" Yes, sir," said the girl. 

" Jest carry this bill to her, if you please, and ask 
her if she will hand yon the money for it." 

The girl took the bill into the honse, and presently 
returned with the answer, that " Mrs. Sharp says she 
does n't pay none of these 'ere things here — -you must 
carry it to the store." 

'* Please to carry it back to Mrs. Sharp," said 
Peter, " and tell her Mr. Sharp desired me to bring 
the bill here, and said it wonld be paid at the honse." 

This message brought Mrs. Sharp herself to the door, 
to whom Peter raised his hat and bowed very politely. 

" I have n't nothing at all to do witli^ the bills here 
at the house," said the lady ; ' they must be carried 
to the store — -that's the place to attend to them." 

"Well, ma'am," said Peter, "I carried it to the 
store, and presented it to Mr. Sharp, and he told me 
to bring it to the house and you would pay it here, 
and that he could n't attend to it at the store." 

" But he could n't mean that I should pay it," said 
Mrs. Sharp, " for he knows I have n't the money." 

" But he said so," said Peter. 

" Well then there must be some mistake about it," 
said the lady. 



222' 'way down east. 

" I beg your pardon, ma'am," said Peter, " its 
possible there may be," and he put the bill in bis 
pocket, bowed, and left the house. 

" It is very queer," thought Peter to himself as he 
walked away a little vexed. " I can't conceive how 
there could be any mistake about it, though it is pos- 
sible there may be. There could n't be any mistake 
on my part, for I'm sure I understood him. Maybe 
he thought she had money at the house when she 
had n't. I guess it will all coine out right enough in 
the end." 

Consoling himself with these reflections, Peter 
Punctual thought he would let Mr. Sharp rest two oi 
three days, and'not show any anxiety by calKng again 
in a hurry. He would not be so unwise as to offend 
a good subscriber, and run the hazard of losing him, 
by an appearance of too much haste in presenting his 
bills. Accordingly, in about three days, he called 
again at Mr. Sharp's store, and asked him in a low 
voice, so that no one should overhear, if it was con- 
venient for him to take that little biU for the maga- 
zine to-day. 

'•'But I told you," said Mr. Sharp, "to carry that 
bill to the house ; I can't attend to it here." 

" Yes, sir, so I understood you," said Peter, " and 1 



PETER PUNCTUAL. 223 

carried it to the house, and Mrs. Sharp said she 
could n't pay it there, for she had no money, and I 
must bring it to the store." 

" Oh, strange !" said Mr. Sharp ; " well, she did n't 
properly understand it then. But I am too much 
engaged to attend to you to-day ; you call o<^>>^ 
call at the house sometime, when I am there." 

Upon this, he turned to his desk and began to 
write with great earnestness, and Peter left the store. 
The affair began to grow a little vexatious, and 
Peter felt a little nettled. Still, he supposed that 
people doing such very large business did find it diffi- 
cult to attend to these little matters, and doubtless it 
would be set right when he should call again. 

After waiting patiently a couple of weeks, Peter 
called again at Mr. Sharp's store. When he entered 
the door, Mr. Sharp was looking at a newspaper ; but 
on glancing at Peter, he instantly dropped the paper, 
4nd fell to writing at his desk with great rapidity. 
Peter waited respectfully a few minutes, unwilling to 
disturb the gentleman till he should appear to be a 
little more at leisure. But after waiting some time 
without seeing any prospect of Mr. Sharp's completing 
the very pressing business before him, he approached 
him with deference, and asked if it would be conve^ 



224 'way down east. 

nient for him to take that little bill for the rnagazino 
to-daj. Sharp turned and looked at Pc ter very sternly. 
- " I can't be bothered with these lit le things," said 
he " when I am so mnch engaged. I am exceedingly 
busy to-day — a good many heavy orders waiting — ■ 
yon must call at the house, and hand !:he bill to me or 
my wife, no matter which." And he turned to his 
desk, and continued to write, without saying anything 
more. 

Peter began to think he had got hold of a hard 
customer : but he had no idea of givi ig up the chase. 

He called at the house several time 3 afterward, but 
Mr. Sharp never happened to be at 1 lome. Once he 
ventured to send the bill again by bhe girl to Mrs. 
Sharp, who returned for answer, that she had nothing 
to do with such bills ; he must carry It to the store. 

At last, after repeated calls, he fc and Mr. Shai-p 
one day at home. He came to the door, and Peter 
presented the bill. Mr. Sharp expressed some sur- 
prise and regret that he had come away from the 
store, and forgot to put any mone;^ in his pocket. 
Peter would have to call some othe: day. Accord- 
ingly, Peter Punctual retired, with a full determin- 
ation to call some other day, and t ' at not very far 
distair.t ; for it had now been seyeral months that h« 



PETER PTJNCTTJAL 225 

had been beaten back and forth like a shuttle-cock 
between Mr. Sharp's store and Mr. Sharp's house, 
and he was getting to be rather tired of the game. 

Having ascertained from the girl at what hour the 
family dined, he called the next day precisely at the 
dinner hour. He rung at the door, and when the 
girl opened it, Peter stepped into the hall. 

" Is Mr. Sharp in ?" said Peter. 

" Yes, sir," said the girl ; " he's up stairs. I'll 
speak to him if you want to see him." 

" Yes," said Peter, " and I'll take a seat in the 
parlor till he comes down." 

As he said this, Peter walked into the parlor and 
seated himself upon an elegant sofa. The parlor was 
richly furnished with Brussels carpet, the best of 
mahogany furniture, a splendid piano, &c., &c. ; and 
in the back parlor, to v/hich folding doors were open, 
everything appeared with corresponding elegance. 
A table was there spread, upon which dinner seemed 
to be nearly ready. Presently the girl returned from 
the chamber, and informed Peter, that Mr. Sharp 
said " it was jest the dinner hour now, and he would 
have to call again." 

" Please to go and tell Mr. Sharp," said Peter, " that 
I must see him, and I'll wait till he comes down." 

10* 



226 'way down east. 

The girl carried tlie message, and Mr. Sliarp i^oon 
made Ms appearance in tlie parlor. A frown passed 
over his brow as he looked at Peter and saw him sit- 
ting so much at ease, and apparently so much at 
home, upon the sofa. Peter rose and asked him 
politely if it was convenient for him to take that little 
bill to-day. 

"E"o," said Sharp, "it is not; and if it was, I 
would n't take it at this hour. It's a very improper 
time to call upon such an errand just as one is going 
to sit down to dinner. You must call again ; but 
don't call at dinner time ; or you may drop into the 
store sometime, and perhaps I may find time to at 
tend to it there." 

" "Well, now, Mr. Sharp," said Peter, with rather a 
determined look, " I can't stand this kind of business 
any longer, that's a fact. I'm a poor man, and I sup 
pose you are a rich one. I can't afford to lose five 
dollars, and I'm too poor to spend any more time in 
running after it- and trying to collect it. I must eat, 
as well as other folks, and if you can't pay me the 
five dollars to-day, to help me pay my board at my 
regular boarding-house, I'll stay here and board it 
out at your table." 

" You will, will you V said Sharp, looking daggers^ 



PETER PUNCTUAL. 227 

and stepping toward Peter. '' it yon give me a word 
of yonr impndence, yon may find it'll be a long time 
before yon collect yonr bill." 

" It's been a long time already," said Peter, " and I 
oan't afford to wait any longer. My mind is made 
np ; if yon don't pay me now, I'm going to stay here 
and board it ont." 

Sharp colored, and looked at the door, and then at 
Peter. 

" Come, come, yonng man," said he advancing 
with rather a threatening attitude, toward Peter, " the 
sooner yon leave the honse peaceably the better." 

" ISTow, sir," said Peter, fixing his black eyes npon 
Sharp, with an intenseness that he conld not bnt feel, 
" I am a small man, and yon are considerable of a 
large one ; bnt my mind is made np. I am not going 
to starve, when there's food enough that I have an 
honest claim npon." 

So saying, he took his seat again very deliberately 
Qpon the sofa. Sharp paused; he looked agitated 
and angiy ; and after waiting a minute, apparently 
undecided what to do, he left the parlor and went up 
stairs Li a few minutes, the servant rung for dinner. 
Mrs. Sharp came into the dining room and took her 
peat at the head of the table. Mr. Sharp followed, 



228 'way down east. 

and seated himself opposite his lady ; and between 
them, and on the right hand of Mrs. S larp, sat another 
lady, probably some friend or relati\ 3 of the family. 
When they were well seated, and Mr. Shai-p was 
beginning to carve, Peter walked 01 1 of the parlor, 
drew another chair np to the table, ai i seated himself 
very composedly opposite the last-] nentioned lady. 
Mr. Sharp colored a good deal, bnt I ept on carving. 
Mrs. Sharp stared very wildly, first ao Peter and then 
at her husband. 

""What in the world does this mean?" said she. 
" Mr. Sharp, I didn't know we were lo have company 
to dinner." 

"We are not," said the husband "This young 
man has the impudence to take his B3at at the table 
unasked, and says he is going to board out the amount 
of the bill." 

" Well, really, this is a pretty pieco of politeness," 
said Mrs. Sharp, looking very hard a: Peter. 

"Madam," said Peter, "hunger will drive a man 
through a stone wall. I must have my board some- 
where." 

'No reply was made to this, and th ) dinner went on 
without any further reference to leter at present 
Mr Sharp helpe*^. his wife, and then the other lady 



PETER PUNCTTIAL. 229 

and then himself, and they all fell to eating. Peter 
looked around him for a plate and knife and fork, but 
there were none on the table bnt what were in nse. 
Peter, however, was not to be baffled. He reached a 
plate of bread, and tipping the bread upon the table 
cloth, appropriated the plate for his own convenience. 
He then took possession of the carving knife and fork, 
helped himself bountifully to meat and vegetables, 
and commenced eating his dinner with the greatest 
composure imaginable. These operations on the part 
of Peter, had the effect to suspend all operations for 
the time on the part of the rest of the company. The 
ladies had laid down their knives and forks, and were 
staring at Peter in wild astonishment. 

" For mercy's sake, Mr. Sharp," said the lady of the 
house, " can't we pick up money enough about the 
house to pay this man his five dollars and send him 
off ? I declare this is too provoking. I'll see what I 
can find." 

With that she rose and left the room. Mr. Sharp 
presently followed her. They returned again in a 
minute, and Mr. Sharp laid a five dollar bill before 
Peter, and told him he would thank him to leave the 
house. Peter examined the bill to see if it was a good 
one, and very quietly folded it and put it into hi& 



230 'WA-Y DOWN EAST. 

pocket. He tlien drew out a little pocket mkstand 
and a piece of paper, laid it upon the table before 
him, wrote a receipt for the money, which he handed 
to Mr. Sharp, rose from the table, bowed to the com- 
pany and retired, thinking as he left the house that he 
had had full enough of the custom of Solomon Sharp, 
the importer. 

Peter Punctual still followed his vocation of circu- 
lating magazines. He had no intention of ever 
darkening the door of Mr. Solomon Sharp's store 
again, but somehow or other, two or three years after, 
as he was canvassing for subscribers in the lower part 
of the city, he happened to blunder into the same 
store accidentally, without noticing the name upon 
the door. I^or did he discover his mistake, until he 
had nearly crossed the store and attracted the atten- 
tion of Mr. Sharp himself, who was at his accustomed 
seat at the desk where Peter had before so often seen 
him. Peter thought, as he had got fairly into the 
store, he would not back out; so he stepped up to 
Mr. Sharp without a look of recognition, and asked 
if he would not like to subscribe for some magazines. 
Mr. Sharp, who either did not recognize Peter, or 
chose not to appear to recognize him, took the maga- 
zines and looked at tliem, and found a couple he said 



PETER PTJNCTITAL. 331 

he would like to take, and inquired tlie terms. They 
were each three dollars a year in advance. 

" But I don't pay in advance for anything," said 
Sharp. " If you have a mind to leave them at my 
house, to be paid for at the end of the year, you may 
put me down for these two." 

^'ISTOj" said Peter, " I don't wish to take any sub^ 
scribers, but those who pay in advance." 

Saying this, he took up his specimens, and was 
going out the door, when Mr. Sharp called him 
back. 

" Here young man, you may leave these two at any 
rate," said he, " and here's your advance," handing 
liim the six dollars. 

" Where will you have them left ?" said Peter. 

" At my house, up town," said Mr. Sharp, describ- 
ing the street and number. 

The business being completed, Peter retired, much 
astonished at his good luck. He again became a 
monthly visitor at Mr. Sharp's door, where he regu- 
larly delivered to the servant girl the two magazines. 
Two or three months after this, when he called one 
day on his usual round, the girl told him that Mr. 
Sharp wanted to see him, and desired he would call 
at the store. Peter felt not a little curious to know 



232 WAY Dv>VN EAST. 

what Mr. Sharp might have to say to liim ; so in the 
course of the same day he called at Mr. Sharp's 
store. 

" Good morning," said Mr. Sharp as Peter entered ; 
" come, take a chair, and sit down here." 

Peter, with a " good morning, sir," did as 'he was 
desired. 

" Ain't you the young man," said Mr. Sharp, with 
a comical kind of a look, " who set out to board out 
a subscription to the New England Magazine at my 
house two or three years ago." 

" Yes," said Peter, " I believe Pm the same per- 
son who once had the honor of taking board at youi 
house." 

""Well," said Mr. Sharp, "I want to give you a 
job." 

"What is it?" said Peter. 

" Here, I want you to collect these bills for me, 
said Mr. Sharp, taking a bundle from his desk, " for 
ril be hanged if /can ; Pve tried till I'm tired." 

Whereupon he opened the bundle and assorted out 
the bills, and made a schedule of them, amounting, 
in the aggregate, tc about a thousand dollars. 

" There," said he " I will give upon that list ten 
per cent, commission on all you collect ; and on that 



PETEK tJiNrCTTAL. 233 

list I'll give you twenty-five per cent, on all you col- 
lect. What say yon ? will yon nndertake tlie job?" 

" Well, I'll try," said Peter, " and see what I can 
do with them. How soon must I return them ?" 

"Take your own time for it," said Mr. Sharp; 
"I've seen enough of you to know pretty well what 
you are." 

Peter accordingly took the bills and entered on his 
new task, following it up with diligence and perseve- 
ranee. In a few weeks he called again at Sharp's 
store. 

" Well," said Mr. Sharp, " have you made out to 
collect anything on those bills ?" 

"Yes," said Peter. 

" There were some of the ten per cent, list that 1 
thought it probable you might collect," said Mr. 
Sharp. "How many have you collected?" 

" All of them," said Peter. 

"All of them!" said Mr. Sharp; "well, fact, that's 
much more than I expected. The twenty-five per 
cent, list was all dead dogs, was n't it ? You got 
nothing on them, I suppose, did you ?" 

"Yes, I did," said Peter. 

" Did you though ? How much ?" said Sharp. 

'^ I got them all," said Peter. 



^34- WAT DOWN ^AST. 

" Oh, that's all a joke," said Sharp. 

"JSTo, it is n't a joke," said Peter. "I've collected 
G\3Yj dollar of them, and here's the money," taking 
out his pocket-book, and counting out the bills. 

Mr. Sharp received the money with the most per- 
fect astonishment. He had not expected one-half of 
the amount would ever be collected. 

He counted out the commissions on the ten per cent, 
list, and then the commissions on the twenty-five per 
cent, list, and handed the sum over to Peter. And 
then he counted out fifty dollars more, and asked Peter 
to accept that as a present ; " partly," said he, " because 
you have accomplished this task so very far beyond 
my expectations, and partly because my acquaintance 
with you has taught me one of the best lessons of my 
life. It has taught me the value of pei-severance and 
punctuality. I have refiected upon it much ever 
since you undertook to board out the bill for the 
magazine at my house." 

" Why yes," said Peter, " I think perseverance and 
punctuality are gre^<.i helps in the way of business." 

" K every person in the community," said Mr. 
Sharp, " would make it a point to pay all of his bills 
promptly, the moment they become due, what a vast 
improvement it would make in the condition of 



PETER PUNOTTTAL. 235 

society all round. That would put people in a condi- 
tion, at all times, to be able to pay tlieir bills prompt- 

We might add, that Peter Punctual afterward 
opened a store in tlie city, in a branch of business 
which brought Mr. Sharp to be a customer to him, 
and he has been one of his best customers ever since, 
paying all of his bills promptly, and whenever Peter 
requires it, even paying in advance. 



23f> WAY DOWN EAST. 



CHAPTEK X. 



THE SPECULATOE. 



In the autumn of 1836, while travelling through a 
portion of the interior of the State of Maine, I stopped 
at a small new village, between the Kennebec and 
Penobscot rivers, nearly a hundred miles from the 
sea-board, for the purpose of giving my horse a little 
rest and provender, before proceeding some ten miles 
farther that evening. It was just after sunset ; I was 
walking on the piazza, in front of the neat new 
tavern, admiring the wildness of the surrounding 
country, and watching the gathering shadows of the 
grey twilight, as it fell upon the valleys, and crept 
softly up the hills, when a light one-horse wagon, 
with a single gentleman^^ drove rapidly into the yard, 
and stopped at the stable door. 

"Tom," said the gentleman to the ostler as he 
jumped from his wagon, " take my mare out, rub her 
down well, and give her four quarts of oats. Be 
spry, now, Tom ; you need n't give her any water, for 



THE SPECULATOR. 237 

she sweats like fury. I'll give her a little when I am 
ready to start." 

Tom sprang with uncommon alacrity to obey the 
orders he had received, and the stranger walked 
toward the house. He was a tall, middle-aged gentle- 
man, rather thin, but well proportioned, and well 
di-essed. It was the season of the year when the 
weather began to grow chilly, and the evenings cold ; 
and the frock-coat of the stranger, trimmed with fur, 
and buttoned to the throat, while it insured comfort, 
served also to exhibit his fine elastic form to the best 
advantage. His little wagon, too, had a marked air 
of comfort about it ; there were the spring-seat, the 
stufi'ed cushions, and buffalo robes ; all seemed to in- 
dicate a gentleman of ease and leisure ; while, on tb e 
other hand, his rapid movements and prompt mannei ^ 
betokened the man of business. As he stepped on to 
the piazza, with his long and handsome driving-whip 
in his hand, the tavern-keeper, who was a brisk young 
man, and well understood his business, met him with 
a hearty shake of the hand, and a familiar " How are 
you, Colonel ? Come, walk in." 

There was something about the stranger that 
strongly attracted my attention, and I followed him 
mto the bar-room. He stepped up to the bar, laid 



238 'way down east. 

his whip on the counter, and called for a glass of 
brandy and water, with some small crackers and 
cheese. 

" But not going to stop to supper. Colonel ? Going 
farther to-night ?" inquired the landlord, as he pushed 
forward the brandy bottle. 

" Can't stop more than ten minutes," replied the 
stranger; "just long enough to let the mare eat her 
oats." 

" Is that the same mare," asked the host, " that 
you had when you were here last ?" 

"Yes," answered the colonel: "IVe drove her" 
thirty miles since dinner, and am going forty miles 
farther, before I stop." 

" But you'll kill that mare, colonel, as sure as 
rates," said the landlord ; " she's too likely a beast to 
drive to death." 

" 'No, no," was the reply ; " she's tough as a pitch- 
knot ; I feed her well ; she'll stand it, I guess. I go 
to Norridge ^^ack before I sleep to-night." 

"With a few more brief remarks, the stranger finish- 
ed his brandy, and crackers and cheese ; he threw 
down some change on the counter, ordered his car- 
riage brought to the door, and bidding his landlord 
good night, jumped into his wagon, cj-acked his whip 



THE SPECULATOR. 239 

and was off like a bird. After he was gone, I ven- 
tured to exercise the Yankee privilege of asking 
" who he might be." 

" That's Colonel Kingston," said the landlord ; " a 
queer sort of a chap he is, too ; a real go-ahead sort 
of a fellow as ever I met with ; does more more busi- 
ness in one day than some folks would do in a year. 
He's a right good customer ; always full of money, 
and pays well." 

"What business or profession does he follow?" I 
asked. 

" Why, not any particular business," replied the 
landlord; "he kind o' speculates rouud, and sich 
like." 

" But," said I, "I thought the speculation in timber- 
lands was over ; I did n't know that a single person 
could be found, now, to purchase lands." 

" Oh, it is n't exactly that kind of speculation," said 
the landlord ; " he's got a knack of buying out folks' 
farms ; land, house, barn, live stock, hay, and provi- 
sions, all in the lump." 

" Where does he live ?" said I. 

" Oh, he^s lived round in a number of places, since 

he's been in these parts. He's been round in these 

' towns only a year :r two, and it's astonishing to see 



240 'way down east. 

how mucli property he's accuranlated. He stays in 
Monson most of the time, now. That's where he 
came from this afternoon. They say he's got a number 
of excellent farms in Monson, and I'll warrant he's got 
some deeds of some more of 'em with him, now, that 
he's going to carry to ITorridgewock to-night, to put 
on record." 

I bade the landlord good evening, and proceeded on 
mj journey. What I had seen and heard of Colonel 
Ejngston, had made an nnwonted impression on my 
mind ; and as Monson lay in my route, and I was 
expecting to stop there a few days, my curiosity was 
naturally a little excited, to learn something more of 
his history. The next day I reached Monson ; and as I 
rode over its many hills, and along its fine ridges of 
arable land, I was struck with the number of fine 
farms which I passed, and the evidences of thrift and 
good husbandry that surrounded me. As this town 
was at that time almost on the extreme verge of the 
settlements in that part of the state, I was sui-prised 
to find it so well settled, and under such good cultiva- 
tion. My surprise was increased, on arriving at the 
centre of the town, to find a flourishing and bnght- 
looking village, with two or three stores, a variety of 
mechanics' shops, a sch ">ol-house, and a neat little 



THE SPECULATOR. 241 

cliurch, painted white, with green blinds, and snr 
mounted by a boll. A little to the westward of the 
village, was one of those clear and beantiful ponds, 
that greet the eye of the traveller in almost every 
hour's ride in th it section of the country ; and on its 
outlet, which ran thi-ough the village, stood a mill, and 
some small manufacturing establishments, that served 
to fili up the picture. 

"Happy town!" thought I, "that has such a 
delightful village for its centre of attraction, and happy 
village that is s ipported by surrounding farmers of 
such thrift and industry as those of Monson !" All 
this, too, I had found within a dozen or fifteen miles 
of Moosehead Like, the noblest and most extensive 
sheet of water ir 'New England, which I had hitherto 
considered so far embosomed in the deep, trackless 
forest, as to be almost unapproachable, save by the 
wild Indian or tt 3 daring hunter. A new light seemed 
to burst upon mt^ ; and it was a pleasant thought that 
led me to look fc rward but a few years, when the rug- 
ged and wild st ares of the great Moosehead should 
resound with the hum and the song of the husband- 
man, and on eve y side rich farms and lively vilages 
should be reflect 3d on its bosom. 

I had been quietly seated in the village inn but a 

11 



242 'way down east. 

short time, in a room that served both for bar and 
sitting-room, when a small man, with a flapped hat, 
an old brown " wrapper," a leather strap buckled 
round his waist, and holding a goad-stick in his hand, 
entered the room, and took a seat on a bench in the 
corner. His bright, restless eye glanced round the 
room, and then seemed to be bent thoughtfully toward 
the fire, while in the arch expression of his counte- 
nance I thought I beheld the prelude to some impor 
tant piece of intelligence, that was struggling for 
utterance. At last, said he, addressing the landlord, 
"I guess the colonel ain't about home to-day, is he ?" 

" IN^o," replied Boniface, " he's been gone since 
yesterday morning; he said he was going up into 
your neighborhood. Have n't you seen anything of 
him ?" 

" Yes," said the little man with the goad-stick, " I 
see him yesterday afternoon about two o'clock, start- 
ing off like a streak, to go to l^orridgewock." 

" Gone to ISTorridgewock !" said the landlord ; 
"what for? He didn't say nothing about going 
when he went away." 

" More deeds, I guess," said the little teamster. 
"He's worried Deacon Stone out of Jiu farm, at 
last." 



THE SPEorLATOK. 243 

"He hasnH got Deacon Stone's faiTQ, lias he?'^ 
exclaimed the landlord. 

"Deacon Stone's farm!" reiterated an elderly, 
sober-looking man, drawing a long pipe from his 
mouth, which he had nntil now been quietly smoking 
in the opposite corner. 

" Deacon Stone's farm !" uttered the landlady, with 
upraised hands, as she entered the room just in seasoD 
to hear the announcement. 

"Deacon Stone's farm!" exclaimed three or four 
others, in different parts of the room, all tui-ning an 
eager look toward the little man with the goad-stick. 
As soon as there was a sufficient pause in these 
exclamations, to allow the teamster to put in another 
word, he repeated : 

"Yes, he's worried the deacon uut, at last, and 
got hold of his farm, as slick as a whistle. He's been 
kind o' edging round the deacon this three weeks, a 
little to a time ; jest enough to find out how to get 
the right side of him; for the deacon was a good 
deal offish, and yesterday morning the colonel was up 
there by the time the deacon had done breakfast ; and 
he got them into the deacon's fore room, and shet the 
door ; and there they staid till dinner was ready, and had 
waited for them an hour, before they would come out 



444: 'way down east. 

And when they had come out, the job was all done ; 
and the deed was signed, sealed, and delivered. I'd 
been there about eleven o'clock, and the deacon's 
wife and the gals were in terrible fidgets for fear of 
what was going on in t'other room. They started to 
go in, two or three times, but the door was fastened, 
so they had to keep out. After dinner I went over 
again, and got there just before they were out of the 
fore room. The deacon asked the colonel to stop to 
dinner, but I guess the colonel see so many sour looks 
about the house, that he was afraid of a storm abrew- 
ing ; so he only ketched up a piece of bread and 
cheese, and said he must be a-goin'. He jumped into 
his wagon, and give his mare a cut, and wna out of 
sight in two minutes." 

" How did poor Mrs. Stone feel ?" asked the land- 
lady ; " I should thought she would a-died." 

" She looked as if she'd turn milk sour <j[uicker than 
a thunder-shower," said the teamster : " and Jane 
went into thelSbedroom, and cried as if her heart 
would break. ^ believe they did n't any of '^m make 
out to eat any dinner, and I thought the deacon felt 
about as bad as any of 'em, after all ; for I never see 
him look so kind o' riled in my life. * ]N"ow Mrs. 
Stone,' said he to his wife, * you think I've done 



THE SPECULATOR. 245 

wrong ; but after talking along with Colonel King- 
ston, I made np my mind it wonld be for the best.' 
Sbe did n't make bim any answer, but begun to cry, 
and went out of tbe room. The deacon looked as if 
be would sink into tbe 'artb. He stood a minute or 
two, as if he was n't looking at nothing, and then he 
took down his pipe off the mantel, and sat down in 
the corner, and went to smoking as bard as he could 
smoke. 

" After a while, he turned round to me, and says he, 
' E'eighbor, I don't know but I've done wrong.' 

* Well,' says I, ' in my opinion, that depends upon 
what sort of a bargain you've made. If you've got a 
good bargain out of the colonel, I don't see why his 
money isn't worth as much as anybody's, or why 
another farm as good as your'n is n't worth as much.' 

* Yes,' said the deacon, ' so it seems to me. I've 
got a good bargain, I know ; it's more than the 
farm is worth. I never considered it worth more 
than two thousand dollars, stock, and hay, and all ; 
and he takes the whole jest as 'tis, and gives me three 
thousand dollars.' ' Is it pay down V says I. ' Yes,' 
says he, 'it's all pay down. He gives me three 
hundred dollars in cash ; I've got it in my pocket ; 
and then he gives me an order on Saunders' store for 



246 'way down e i s t . 

two h indi 3d dollars ; that's as good as money, you 
know ; for we are always wanting one tiling or 
another out of Ms store. Then he gives me a deed of 
five hundred acres, of land, in the tipper part of Yer- 
mont, at 'B.yg dollars an acre. That makes up three 
thousand dollars. But that is n't all ; he says this 
land is richly worth seven dollars an acre ; well tim- 
bered, and a good chance to get the timber down ; 
and he showed me certificates of several respectable 
men, that had been all over it, and they said it was 
well worth seven dollars. That gives me two dollars 
clear profit on an acre, which on -Q-ve hundred acres 
makes a thousand dollars. So that instead of three 
thousand dollars, I s'pose I've really got four thousand 
for the farm. But then it seems to work up the feel- 
ings of the women folks so, to think of leaving it, after 
we've got it so well under way, that I don^t know 
b'lt I've done wi'ong.' And his feelings came over 
him so, that he begun to smoke away again as hard 
as ne could draw. I did n't know what to say to him, 
lor I did n't believe he would ever get five hundred 
dollars for his five hundred acres of land, so I got up 
and went home." 

As my little goad-stick teamster made a pause here, 
the elderly man in the opposite corner, who had sat 



THE SPECrLATGtt. 247 

all this time knocking liis pipe-bowl on the thumbnai . 
of his left hand, took up the thread of discourse. 

" I'm afraid," says he, looking up at the landlord, 
" I'm afraid Deacon Stone has got tricked out of his 
farm for a mere song. That Colonel Kingston, in my 
opinion, is a dangerous man, and ought to be looked 
after." 

" Well, I declare !" said the landlord, " I'd no idee 
he would get hold of Deacon Stone's farm. That's 
one of the best farms in the town." 

" Yes," replied the man with the pipe, " and that 
makes seven of the " best farms in town that he's got 
hold of already ; and what '11 be the end of it, I don't 
know ; but I think something ought to be done about 
it." 

" Well, there," said the landlady, " I do pity Mrs. 
Stone from the bottom of my heart ; she'll never get 
over it the longest day she lives." 

Here the little man with the goad-stick, looking out 
the window, saw his team starting off up the road, 
and he flew out of the door, screaming " Hush \ 
whoa ! hush !" and that was the last I saw of him 
But my curiosity was now too much excited, with 
regard to Colonel Kingston's mysterious operations, 
and my sympathies for good Deacon Stone, and his 



248 'way D C W N K AST . 

fellow-suiferers, were too tlioroiiglily awakened, to 
allow me to rest without farther inqu iries. 

During the days that I remained m the neighbor 
hood, I learned that he came from Y' ;rmont ; that he 
had visited Monson several times w thin a year or 
two, and had made it his home thsre for the last 
few months During that time he had exercised an 
influence over some of the honest ai -d sober-minded 
llirmers of Monson, that was perfecth unaccountable. 
He was supposed to be a man of wea th, for he never 
seemed to lack money for any opere tion he chose to 
undertake. He had a bold, dashing air, and rather 
fascinating manners, and his powxr over those with 
whom he conversed had become so c 3nspicuous, that 
it was regarded as an inevitable consequence m 
Monson, if a farmer chanced to get si .ut up in a room 
with Colonel Kingston, he was a " g one goose," and 
sure to come out well stripped of h: 3 feathers. He 
had actually got possession of sever or eight of the 
best farms in the town, for about one quarter part of 
their real value. 

It may be thought unaccountable, t lat thriving, sen- 
sible farmers could in so many instf nces be duped ; 
but there were some extraneous cir 3umsiances that 
helped to produce the result. The wdd spirit of spec 



THE SPECULATOR. 249 

ulution, which had raged throughout the country foi 

two or three years, had pervaded almost every mind^ 

and rendered it restless, and desirous of change. And 

then the seasons, for a few years past, had been cold 

and unfavorable. The farmer had sowed and had not 

reaped, and he was discouraged. If he could sell, he 

would go to a warmer climate. These influences, 

added to his own powers of adi'oitness and skill in 

making "the worse appear the better reason," had 

enabled Colonel Eangston to inveigle the farmers of 

Monson out of their hard-earned property, and turn 

them, houseless and poor, upon the world. 

The public mind had become much excited upon 

the subject, and the case of Deacon Stone added fresh 

fuel to the fire. It was in this state of affairs that I 

left Monson, and heard no more of Colonel Kingston 

until the following summer, when another journey 

called me into that neighborhood, and I learned the 

sequel to his fortunes. The colonel made but few 

more conquests, after his victory over Deacon Stone ; 

and the experience of a cold and cheerless winter, 

which soon overtook them, brought the deluded 

farmers to their senses. The trifling sums of money 

which they received in hand, were soon exhausted in 

providing necessary supplies for their families ; and 

ir* 



250 'way down east 

the property which they had obtained, as principal 
payment for their farms, turned out to be of little value, 
or was so situated that they could turn it to no profit- 
able account. Day after day, through the winter, the 
excitement increased, and spread, and waxed more 
intense, as the unfortunate condition of the sufferers 
became more generally known. " Colonel Kingston " 
was the great and absorbing topic of discussion, at 
the stores, at the tavern, at evening parties, and sleigh- 
rides, and even during intermission at church, on the 
Sabbath. 

The indignation of the people had reached that 
pitch which usually leads to acts of violence. 
Colonel Kingston was now regarded as a monster, 
preying upon the peace and happiness of society, and 
various were the expedients proposed to rid the town 
of him. The schoolboys, in the several districts, 
discussed the matter, and resolved to form a grand 
company, to snowball him out of town, and only 
waited a nod of approbation from some of their 
parents or teachers, to carry tlieir resolutions into 
effect. Some reckless young men were for seizing 
him, and giving him a public horse-whipping, in 
front of the tavern at mid-day, and in presence of the 
whole tillage. Others, equally violent, but lesa 



THE SPECULATOR. 251 

daring, proposed catclaiug him out, some dark even- 
ing, giving him a good coat of tar-and-feathers, and 
riding liim ont of town on a rail. But the older, 
more experienced, and sober-minded men, shook their 
heads at these rash projects, and said : " It is a bad 
plan for people to take the law into their own hands ; 
as long as we live under good laws, it is best to be 
governed by them. Such kind of squabbles as you 
young folks want to get into, most always turn out 
bad in the end." 

So reasoned the old folks ; but they were neverthe- 
less as eager and as determined to get rid of Colonel 
Kingston, as were the young ones, though more cau- 
tious and circumspect as to the means. At last, after 
many consultations and much perplexity. Deacon 
Stone declared one day, with much earnestness, to his 
neighbors and townsmen, who were assembled at the 
village, that " For his part, he believed it was best to 
appeal at once to the laws of the land ; and if they 
would n't give protection to the citizen, he did n't 
know what would. For himself, he verily believed 
Colonel Kingston might be charged with swindling, 
and if a complaint was to be made to the Grand Jury 
he did n't bel eve but they would have him indicted 
and tried in Court, and give back the people theif 



252 'way down east. 

farms again." The deacon ^^okQ feelingly^ m the 
subject, and liis words found a ready response in the 
hearts of all present. It was at once agreed to pre- 
sent Colonel Kingston to the Grand Jury, when the 
Court should next be in session at ^^Torridgewock. 
Accordingly, when the next Court w; .s held, Monson 
was duly represented before the granc. inquest for the 
county of Somerset, and such an ar ay of facts and 
evidence was exhibited, that the Jury , without hesita- 
tion, found a bill against the colonel for swindling, and 
a warrant was immediately issued for 1 is apprehension. 
This crisis had been some months maturing, and 
the warm summer had now comment ed. The forest 
trees were now in leaf ; and though the ground was 
yet wet and muddy, the days began to be hot and 
uncomfortable. It was a warm moonlight evening, 
when the officer arrived at Monson w Ith the warrant. 
He had taken two assistants with h m, mounted on 
fleet horses, and about a dozen stout young men of 
the village were in his train as vc lunteers. They 
approached the tavern where Co .onel Kingston 
boarded, and just as they were turnh g from the road 
up to the house, the form of a tall, lim person was 
seen in the bright moonlight, gliding fi om the back 
door, and crossing the garden. 



THE SPECTJLATOE. 255 

"There lie goes!" exclaimed a dozen Monson voices 
at once ; " that's he ! — there he goes !" 

And sure enough, it was he ! Whether he had been 
notified of his danger, by some traitor, or had seen 
from the window the approach of the party, and sus- 
pected mischief was at hand, was never known. But 
the moment he heard these exclamations, he sprang 
from the ground as if a bullet had pierced his heart. 
He darted across the garden, leaped the fence at a 
bound, and flew over the adjacent pasture with the 
speed of a race-horse. In a moment the whole party 
were in full pursuit; and in five minutes more, a 
hundred men and boys, of all ages, roused by the cry 
that now rang through the village, were out, and join- 
ing in the race. The fields were rough, and in some 
places quite wet, .so that running across them was 
rather a difficult and hazardous business. The direc- 
tion which Kingston at first seemed inclined to take, 
would lead him into the main road, beyond the corner, 
nearly a half a mile off. But those who were mounted 
put spurs to their horses, and reaching the spot before 
him, headed him off in another direction. He now 
flew from field to field, leaping fence after fence, and 
apparently aiming for the deep forest, on the eastern 
part of the town. Many of his pursuers were athletic 



2d4 way down east. 

young men, and they gave him a hot chase. Even 
Deacon Stone, who had come to the village that even- 
ing to await the arrival of the officer — even the dea- 
con, now in the sixty-first year of his age, ran like a 
joy. He kept among the foremost of the pursuers, and 
once getting within about a dozen rods of the fugitive, 
his zeal burst forth into words, and he cried out, in a 
tremulous voice : " Stop ! you infernal villain ! — stop !" 
This was the nearest approach he had made to profa- 
nity for forty years ; and when the sound of the words 
he had uttered fell full on his ear, his nerves received 
such a shock that his legs trembled and he was no 
longer able to sustain his former speed. 

The colonel, however, so far from obeying the 
emphatic injunction of the deacon, rather seemed to 
be inspired by it to new efforts of* flight. Over log, 
bog and brook, stumps, stones and fences, he flew like 
a wild deer ; and after a race of some two miles, during 
which he was at no time more than twenty rods from 
some of his pui*suers, he plunged into a thick dark for- 
est. Hearing his adversaries close upon him, after he 
had entered the wood, and being almost entirely 
exhausted, he threw himself under the side of a large 
fallen tree, where he was darkly sheltered by a thick 
o.ump of alders. His pursuers rushed furiously on, 



THE SPECULA TOE. 255 

many of tliem within liis hearing, and some of them 
passing over the very tree nnder which he lay. After 
scouring the forest for a mile round, without finding 
any traces of the fugitive, they began to retreat to the 
opening, and Kingston heard enough of their remarks, 
on their return, to learn that his retreat from the woods 
that night would be well guarded against, and that 
the next day Monson would pour out all its force, " to 
hunt him to the ends of the 'arth, but what they 
would have him !" . 

Under this comfortable assurance, he was little dis- 
posed to take much of a night's rest, where he would 
be sure to be discovered and overtaken in the morn- 
ing. But what course to take, and what measures to 
adopt, was a difficult question for him to answer. To 
return to Monson opening, he well knew would be to 
throw himself into the hands of his enemies ; and if 
he remained in the woods till next day, he foresaw 
there would be but a small chance of escape from the 
hundreds on every side, who would be on the alert to 
take him. ISTorth of him was the new town of Elliot- 
ville, containing some fifteen or twenty families, and to 
the south, lay Guilford, a well-settled farming town ; 
but he knew he would be no more safe in either of 
tliose settlements than he would in Monson. East of 



256 'way down east. 

him lay an unsettled and unincorporated wild town' 
ship, near the centre of which, and some three or four 
miles to the eastward of where he now lay, dwelt a 
solitary individual by the name of Johnson, a singular 
being, who, from some unknown cause, had forsaken 
social life, and had lived a hermit in that secluded spot 
for seven or eight years. He had a little opening in a 
fine interval, on the banks of Wilson River, where 
he raised his corn and potatoes, and had constructed 
a rude hovel for a dwelling. Johnson had made his 
appearance occasionally at the village, with a string 
of fine trout, a bear-skin, or some other trophy of his 
ISTimrod propensities, which he would exchange at the 
stores for " a little rum, and a little tobacco, and a 
little tea, and a jack-knife, and a little more rum," 
when he would plunge into the forest again, return to 
his hermitage, and be seen no more for months. 

After casting his thoughts about in vain for anj* 
other refuge, Kingston resolved to throw himself upon 
the protection of Johnson. Accordingly, as soon as 
he was a little rested, and his pursuers were well out 
of hearing, he crept from his hiding-place, and taking 
his direction by the moon, made the best of his way 
eastward, through the rough and thick wood. It is 
no easy matter to penetrate such a forest in the day- 



THE SPECULATOK. 257 

time ; and in tlie niglit, nothing but extreme despera- 
tion could drive a man through it. Here pressing his 
way through dark and thick underbrush, that con- 
stantly required both hands to guard his eyes ; there 
climbing over huge windfalls, wading a bog, or leap- 
ing a brook ; and anon working his way, for a quarter 
of a mile, through a dismal, tangled cedar-swamp, 
where a thousand dry and pointed limbs, shooting out 
on every side, clear to the very ground, tear his clothes 
from his back, and wound him at every step. Under 
these impediments, and in this , condition, Kingston 
spent the night in pressing on toward Johnson's camp ; 
and after a period of extreme toil and suffering, just 
at daylight, he came out to the opening. But here 
another barrier was before him. The Wilson River, 
a wild and rapid stream, and now swollen by a recent 
freshet, was between him and Johnson's dwelling, and 
he had no means of crossing. But cross he must, and 
he was reluctant to lose time in deliberation. He 
selected the spot that looked most likely to admit of 
fording, and waded into the river. He staggered 
along from rock to rock, and fought against the cui^ 
rent, until he reached nearly the middle of the stream, 
when the water deepened and took him from his feet I 
He was but an indifferent swimmer, and the force ot 



i^.^8 'way down east. 

iV.e current carried him rapidly down the stream. At 
""ast, however, after severe struggles, and not without 
imminent peril of his life, he made out to reach the 
bank, so much exhausted, that it was with difficulty 
he could walk to Johnson's camp. When he reached 
it, he found its lonely inmate yet asleep. He roused 
him, made his case known to him, and begged his 
protection. 

Johnson was naturally benevolent, and the forlorn, 
exhausted, ragged, and altogether wretched appear- 
ance of the fugitive, at once touched his heart. There 
was now. — 

"No SPECULATION in those eyes 
"Which he did glare withal," 

but fear and trembling blanched his countenance, and 
palsied his limbs. Possibly the hermit's benevolence 
might have been quickened by a portion of the con- 
tents of the colonel's purse ; but be that as it may, he 
was soon administering to the comfort of his guest. 
In a few minutes he had a good fire, and the exhausted 
wanderer took off his clothes and dried them, and tried 
to fasten some of the flying pieces that had been torn 
loose by the hatchel-teeth limbs in the cedar-swamps. 
In the meantime Johnson had provided some roasted 
potatoes, and a bit of fried bear-meat, which he 



THE SPECULATOR. 259 

served up, with a tin dipper of strong tea, and Kings- 
ton ate and drank, and was greatly refreshed. 

The J now set tnemselves earnestly to work to devise 
means of retreat and security against the pursuit of 
the enraged Monsonites, " who," I^jngston said, " he 
was sure would visit the camp before noon." Under a 
part of the floor, was a small excavation in the earth, 
which his host called his potato-hole, since, being near 
the fire, it served in winter to keep his potatoes from 
freezing. This portion of the floor was now entirely 
covered over with two or three barrels, a water-pail, a 
bench, and sundry articles of iron and tin-ware. It 
was Johnson's advice, that the colonel should be 
secreted in this potato-hole. He was afraid, however, 
that they would search so close as to discover his re- 
treat. Yet the only alternative seemed between the 
plan proposed and betaking himself again to the woods, 
exposed to toil and starvation, and the chance of arrest 
by some of the hundreds who would be scouring the 
woods that day, eager as bloodhounds for their prey. 
Something must be done immediately, for he was 
expecting every hour to hear the cry of his pursuers ; 
and relying on Johnson's ingenuity and skill to send 
them off on another scent should they come to his 
camp, he concluded to retreat to the potato-hole 



'260 'way down east. 

Accordingly, the superincumbent articles were has- 
tily removed, a board was taken up from the floor, 
and the gallant colonel descenided to his new quarters. 
Tliey were small to be sure, but under the circumstan- 
ces very acceptable. The cell was barely deep enough 
to receive him in a sitting posture, with his neck a 
little bent, while under him was a little straw, upon 
which he could stretch his limbs to rest. Johnson 
replaced all the articles with such care that no one 
would have supposed they had been removed for 
months. 

This labor had just been completed, when he heard 
shouts at a distance, and beheld ten or a dozen people 
rushing out of the woods, and making toward his 
camp. He was prepared for them ; and when they 
came in, they found him seated quietly on his bench, 
mending his clothes. 

" Have you seen anything of Colonel Kingston ?" 
inquired the foremost of the company with panting 
eagerness. 

"Colonel Kingston?" asked Johnson, looking up 
with a sort of vacant, honest stare. 

" Yes — ^he's run fof 't," replied the other, " and we 
are after him. The Grand Jury has indicted him, 
and the Sheriff's got a warrant, and all Monson, and 



THE SPECULATOK. 261 

one half of Guilford, is out a hunting for him. Last 
night, just as they were going to take him, he run 
into the woods this way. Ha'n't you seen nothin' of 
him?" 

Johnson sat with his mouth wide open, and listened 
with such an inquiring look that any one would have 
sworn it was all news to him. At last he exclaimed 
with the earnestness inspired by a new thought, 
"Well, there! I'll bet that was what my dog was 
barking at, an hour or so ago ! I heard him barking 
as fierce as a tiger, about half a mile down the river. 
I was busy mending my trowsers, or I should have 
gone down to see what he'd got track of" 

The company unanimously agreed that it must 
have been Kingston the dog was after ; and in the 
hope of getting upon his track, they hurried off in 
the dirsction indicated, leaving Johnson as busily 
engaged as if, like 

" Brian O'Linn, he'd no breeches to wear," 

until he had finished repairing his tattered inexpressi- 
bles. 

The fugitive now breathed freely again ; but while 
his pursuers were talking with his host, his respira- 
tion had hardly been sufficient to sustain life, and 



262 'wAT DOWN EAST. 

" cold urops of sweat stood on his trembling flesh." 
He did not ventm-e to leave his retreat for two days ; 
for during that day and most of the next, the woods 
were scoured from one end of the township to the 
other, and several parties successively visited the 
camp, who were all again successively despatched to 
the woods by the adroitness of its occupant. 

After two days the pursuers principally left the 
woods and contented themselves with posting senti- 
nels at short intervals on the roads that surrounded 
the forest, and in the neighboring towns, hoping to 
arrest their victim, when hunger should drive him 
forth to some of the settlements. Kingston felt that 
it was unsafe for him to remain any longer under the 
protection of Johnson, and he knew it would be 
exceedingly difficult to make his escape through any 
of the settlements of Maine. Upon due reflection he 
concluded that the onlv chance left for him was to 
endeavor to make his way to Canada. 

He was now a dozen or fifteen miles from the foot 
of Moosehead lake. There was a foot-path to Elliott: 
ville, where there were a few inhabitants. Through 
this settlement he thought he migt t venture to pass 
in the night ; and he could then go <t few miles to the 
westward, and meet the road leading from Monson to 



THE SPECULATOR. 263 

the lake. Once across or around the foot of the lake, 
he believed he could make his way into the Canada 
road, and escape with safety. Having matured his 
plan he communicated it to Johnson, who aided it in 
the best manner he could by providing him with a 
pack of potatoes and fried bear-meat, accompanied 
with an extra Indian "johnny-cake," a jack-knife, and 
a flint and tinder for striking fire. 

It was late in the night, when all things were pre- 
pared for the journey, and Kingston bade an affec- 
tionate adieu to his host, declaring that he should 
never forget him, and adding, with much originality 
of thought and expression, that " a friend in need 
was a friend indeed." He had nearly a mile to go 
through the woods, before reaching the path that led 
through the township of Elliotville ; and when he 
passed the EUiottville settlement the day began to 
dawn. A stirring young man, who was out at that 
early hour, saw him cross the road at a distance and 
strike into the woods. Satisfied at once who he was, 
"and suspecting his object, he hastened to rouse his 
two or three neighbors, and then started toward Mon- 
son village with all the speed his legs could give him. 
Kingston, observing this movement from a hill-top 
in the woods, was convinced that he should be 



264: 'way down east. 

pursued, and redoubled his exertions to reach the 
lake. 

When the messenger reached Monson and commu- 
nicated his intelligence, the whole village was roused 
like an encamped army at the battle-call; and in 
twenty minutes every horse in the village was mounted 
and the riders were spurring with all speed toward the 
lake, and Deacon Stone among the foremost. As 
they came in sight of the Moosehead, the sun, which 
was about an hour high, was pouring a flood of warm 
rays across the calm, still waters, and some half a mile 
from land, they beheld a tall, slim man, alone in a 
canoe, paddling toward the opposite shore. 

For a moment the party stood speechless, and then 
vent was given to such oaths and execrations as habit 
had made familiar. Something was even swelling in 
Deacon Stone's throat, well-nigh as sinful as he had 
uttered on a former occasion, but he coughed, and 
checked it before it found utterance. They looked 
around, and ran on every side, to see if another boat, 
or any other means of crossing the lake could be 
found ; but all in vain. Tlie only skiff on that arm 
of the lake had been seized by the colonel in his 
flight. His pursuers were completely baffled. Some 
were for crossing the woods, and going round the 



THE SPECULA T OK. . 265 

southwest bay of the lake over the head waters of 
the Kennebec River, and so into the great wilderness 
on the western side of the lake. But others said, 
" 'No ; it's no us(3 ; if he once gets over among them 
swamps and mountains, you might as well look for a 
needle in a hay-now P' 

•This sentimeni accorded with the better judgment 
of the party, and they turned about and rode quietly 
back to Monson — ^Deacon Stone consoling himself on 
the way by occasionally remarking: "Well, if the 
aeathen is di'ivei out of the land, thanks to a kind 
Providence, he hasn't carried the land with him If* 



3^ 



266 'way down bast. 



CHAPTEE XL 



A DUTCH WEDDING. 



^' You can often get over the difficnltj, when yon 
can't get over the river," said mj friend John Yan 
Ben Schoten. 

" Why don't you begin yonr name with a Sam ?" 
said I; " it wonkl give it more fulness and roundness ; 
a more musical sound. I do like a full, harmonious 
name, I don't care what nation it belongs to. Only 
see how much better it would sound — Sam John Yan 
Ben Schoten — I would make that little addition, if I 
was you." 

"Why that is my boy's name," said my friend 
John Yan Ben Schoten. " You Yankees are always 
one generation ahead of us Hollanders. Wait till 
™7 ^^.y grows up, and he'll be just what you want. 
" But don't let us be disputing about names" 

Our disputes were always of the good-natured 
sort, and generally confined to the relative advan- 
tages of Yankee enterprise and Dutch perseverance 



A DU7 TH WEDDING. • 267 

•^ Don't let us be disputing about names," ^Aid he, 
" when you ought to be planning how to pay that 
note to-morrow. You say your draft has come back 
protested, and you have no other means of raising 
the money." 

This was tv>o true ; I had been in a perfect fever all 
the morning ; the return of the draft was most unex- 
pected ; those, of whom I had been accustomed to 
receive accomodations, were out of town, and the 
note in question would do me much injury by lying 
over. As a last resort I had applied to my friend 
John Yan Ben Schoten for advice in the matter. 

" I tell you," said John Yan Ben Schoten, " you 
can often get over the difficulty, when you can't get 
over the river." 

" Yes," said I, " but how f You can do most any 
thing if you only know how." 

" Well," said he, "go into my counting-room and 
sit down a minute, and I'll tell you how." 

We went in, and took a seat in the shadiest corner, 
near the window. John, before sitting down, reached 
up over his desk and took down his long pipe. He 
then opened a little drawer and filled his pipe with 
tine dry tobacco, and pulling a lens out of his pocket 
ho stepped into the sunshine to light it. 



268 WAY DOWN EAST. 

"You don't need that glass," said I, " you just hold 
your pipe in the sun, and if it don't light in half a 
minute without the glass, I'll engage to eat it." 

" There 'tis again," said John Yan Ben Schoten, 
" you are a_ways showing the Yankee. Our fathers 
always lit their pipes with sun glasses, and now you 
want to contrive some other way to do it. K I knew 
I could light it in half the time without the glass, still 
I would use the glass out of respect to my ances- 
tors." 

" Well, come," said I, " this is n't telling me how to 
get over the difficulty." 

" Wait till I get my little steam-engine a-going," 
said John, still holding the glass in the sun. 

" But have n't you any loco foco matches ?" said I, 
growing somewhat impatient. 

" iNo," said John, " I never allow those new-fangled 
dangerous things to come into my counting room." 

" But how do you get a fire when the sun don't 
shine ?" said I. 

" I use a flint and steel," said he, " the safest and 
Burest way in the world." 

At last, his pipe began to burn, and John with the 
utmost complacency sat down in his large arm-chair M 
and began to smoke. 



A DTJICH WEDDING. 269 

" Well, now," said I, " I suppose you are ready to 
open your mind upon this matter, and tell me if you 
can contrive any plan to help me over this difficulty." 

" Why, yes," said John, " you can oftentimes get 
over the difficulty, when you can't get over the river. 
Did you ever know how Peter Yan Horn got mar 
ried ?" 

" :^To," said I. 

" Well, I'll tell you," said John, taking the pipe 
from his mouth and puffing out a cloud of smoke that 
almost concealed his head from my view. 

" Oh, now, don't stop for any of your long yarns," 
said I ; "it is getting toward the close of business 
hours, and it's very important that this business of 
mine should be attended to." 

" You Yankees are always too impatient," said 
John ; " there's never anything lost by taking time to 
consider a matter. It is driving the steamboat too 
faat, and trying to go ahead of somebody else, that 
makes her burst her boiler." 

At that he put his pipe in his mouth and went to 
smoking again. 

" Well, come," said I, " the sooner you begin to 
tell how Peter Yan Horn got married, the sooner 
you'll get through with it." 



270 'way down east. 

" I know it," said lie, " and if yon won't interrupt 
me, I'll go on." 

" Yes," says I, " a Dutcliman must always have 
his own way ; go ahead." 

" Well, then," said John Yan Ben Schoten, throw- 
ing himself back into the chair, and leisurely blowing 
the smoke in a long, steady, quiet roll from his mouth ; 
" about a hundred years ago, Peter Yan Horn lived 
at Schenectady, or near where Schenectady now is, 
for it was a kind of wilderness place then. You've 
been at Schenectady, have n't you ?" 

" 'No " said I, " I never have." 

" Well, it is about fifteen or twenty miles from 
Albany ; you've been at Albany, of course." 

" No, I have n't," said I. 

" Kot been at Albany ?" said John, staring at me 
with rather an incredulous look ; " then you have n't 
seen much of the world yet." 

*' Why, no," said I, " perhaps not a great deal on 
this side of it ; though I have seen something of the 
other side of it, and a little of hoth eends." 

John laughed, and went on with his story. 

" Peter Yan Horn lived near Schenectady, on one 
of the little streams that empty into the Mohawk. 
His father was one of the first settlers in that region ; 



A DUTCH WEDDING. 271 

and the old gentleman brought up a nice family, a 
fine set of hardj, industrious fellows ; every one of 
them as steady as a mill liorse : no wild oats — they 
were men before they were boys. The consequence 
was, they picked up the money and always had a 
comfortable share of this world's goods. 

" Well, Peter, he grew up to be a smart young 
man, and at last he got it into his head, that he 
wanted to be married. You know how 'tis ; young 
men now-a-days are apt to get such notions into their 
heads, and it was just so in old times. I don't know 
as Peter was to blame for that ; for there was living 
a little ways up the hill, above his father's, Betsey Yan 
Hey den, a round, rosy-cheeked, blue eyed girl, as neat 
as a new pin, and as smart as a steel-trap. Every 
time Peter saw her, his feelings became more inter- 
ested in her. Somehow, he could not seem to keep 
his mind off of her. Sometimes, when he was hoeing 
corn in the field, the first thing he would know, his 
father would call out to him, ' Peter, what do you 
stand there leaning over your hoe-handle for V And 
then he would start, and color up to the eyes, and go 
to work. He knew he had been thinking of Betsey 
Yan Heyden, but how long he had been standing still 
he could n't tell. 



272 'way down east. 

" At last things grew worse and worse, and he 
found he couldn't live without Betsey Yan Hey den 
no how ; so he went and popped the ^[uestion to her ; 
and Betsy said she was willing if m )ther was — gals 
in them days were remarkably well brought up, in 
comparison of what they are now-a- lays — so after a 
while Peter mustered up courage enough to go and 
ask the old folks, and the old folks, ^fter taking two 
days to consider of it, said yes ; for why should n't 
they ? Peter was one of the most ii dustrious young 
men in the whole valley of the Moha vk. 

" And now that the road was all open and plain 
before him, Peter was for hmTying a lead ; he did n't 
see any use at all in waiting. 

" Betsey was for putting it off two months, till she 
could get another web out of the 1 'om ; but Peter 
said no, he did n't care a snap aboT t another web ; 
they'd be married first and make the cloth afterward. 
Betsey at last yielded the point ; she s lid she did want 
to make up a few articles before the ' were married, 
but she supposed they might get alor g without them. 
So they finally fixed on Thursday < <f the following 
week for the wedding. The work of preparation was 
soon commenced, and carried out i i a liberal style. 
Everything requisite for a grand fea; t was collected, 



A DUTCH WEDDING. 1^73 

ccHjked, and arranged in apple-pie order, flie guests 
were all invited, and Parson Yan Brimt was engaged 
to be there precisely at three o'clock, in order that 
they might get through the business, and have supper 
out of the way in season for all to get home before 
dark. 

"Thus far, up to the evening before the wedding day, 
everything looked fair and promising. Peter retired 
to bed early, in the hope of getting a good night's 
rest ; but somehow or other he never was so restless 
in his life. He shut his eyes with all his might, and 
tried to think of sheep jumping over a wall; but do 
all he could, sleep would n't come. Before midnight 
the doors and windows began to rattle with a heavy 
wind. Peter got uj) and looked out ; it was dark and 
cloudy. Presently flashes of lightning were seen, 
and heavy thunder came rolling from the clouds and 
echoing among the hills. In half an hour more a 
heavy torrent of rain was beating upon the house. 
' It will be soon over,' thought Peter, * and the air 
will be beautiful to-morrow, as sweet as a rose ; what 
a fine day we shall have.' 

" Hour after hour passed away, and the rain still 

came down in a flood. Peter could not sleep a wink 

all night. He got up and walked the floor till day 

12* 



274 'way down east. 

light, and when he looked out upon the roads and 
the fields the water was standing in every hollow and 
running down the hillsides in rivulets. JSTine, ten, 
and eleven o'clock passed, and still it rained. Peter 
had been up to Mr. Yan Heyden's twice through 
the rain to see how affairs went on there ; the family 
looked rather sad, but Betsey said she had faith to 
believe that it would hold up before three o'clock ; 
and sure enough about twelve o'clock, while the 
families were at dinner, it did hold up, and the clouds 
began to clear away. 

" About two o'clock the wedding guests began to 
assemble at Mr. Yan Heyden's, and the faces of all 
began to grow shorter and brighter. All this time it 
had not entered Peter's head, or the heads of any of 
the rest of the company, that there might be any 
difficulty in the way of Parson Yan Brunt's coming 
to their aid in completing the marriage ceremony. 
They had all this time forgotten that they were on 
one side of the Tomhenick stream and Parson Yan 
Brunt on the other ; that there was no bridge over 
the stream, and that it was now so swollen by the 
flood, and the current was so rapid, that it was almost 
as much as a man's life was worth to attempt to cross 
it at the usual fording-place, or swim it on horseback. 



A DUTCH WEDDING. 275 

" At last, about half-past two o'clock, Parson Yam 
Brunt, true to liis promise, was seen riding down the 
hill on tjie opposite side of the river and approaching 
the ford, 

" There he is," said old Mrs. Yan Heyden, who 
had been upon the lookout for the last half hour, 
" there's the dear good man ; now let us all take om* 
seats and be quiet before he comes in." 

" While they were still lingering at the doors and 
windows, and watching the parson as he came slowly 
down the hill, he reached the bank of the river and 
stopped. He sat upon his horse some minutes, look- 
ing first up the stream and then down the stream, and 
then he rode his horse a few rods up and down the 
bank, and returned again to the ford. 

" * What can he be waiting there for V said Peter ; 
' sure he has seen the river often enough before, that 
he need n't stand there so long to look at it.' 

" ' I can tell you what the difficulty is,' said old Mr. 
Yan Heyden, ' the river is so high he can't get across.^ 

" The truth now fell like a flash upon the minds of 
the whole company. 

" ' Do you think so ?' said Mr. Yan Horn. 

" ' I know so,' said Mr. Yan Heyden ; ' you can 
see from here the water is up the bank two roda 



276 'way doavn east. 

farther than it commonly is, and must be as much as 
ten feet deep over the ford just now.' 

" ' What shall we do?' said old Mr 3. Yan Heyden; 
* the things will all be spoilt if we don't have the 
wedding to-day.' 

" Betsey began to turn a little pale Peter took his 
hat and started off upon a quick v alk toward the 
river ; and presently all the men foli:s followed him. 
The women folks waited a little waile, and seeing 
Parson Yan Brunt still sitting on his horse uj)on the 
other side of the river without any r ctempt to cross, 
they all put on their bonnets and fol lowed the men. 
When they got to the bank, the reasc n of the parson's 
delay was as clear as preaching. Th ) little river was 
swollen to a mighty torrent, and wf 3 rushing along 
its banks with the force and rapidi y of a cataract. 
The water had never been so high 1 efore since the 
neighborhood had been settled, and i was still rising. 
To ford the river was impossible, an 1 to attempt to 
swim it on horseback was highly dan ^erous. 

" ^ What shall we do V said Petei , calling to the 
parson across the river. 

" ' Well, I think you will have to 1 )Ut it off two or 
three days, till the river goes dowi,' said Parson 
Van Brunt 



A DUTCH WEDDING. 277 

*• 'Tell him we can't put it off,' said old Mrs. Yau 
Hejden, touching Peter bj the elbow : ' for the piea 
and cakes and things will all be spoilt.' 

" ' Ask him if he don't think his horse can swim 
over,' said Betsey in a half whisper, standing the other 
side of Peter. 

" Peter again called to the parson ; told him what 
a disappointment it would be if he did n't get over, 
and that it was the general opinion his horse could 
swim over with him if he would only try. Parson Yan 
Brunt was devoted to the duties of his profession, and 
ready to do anything, even at the risk of his life, for 
the good of his flock. So he reined up his horse 
tightly, gave him the whip, and plunged into the 
stream. The current was too rapid and powerful for 
the animal ; the horse and rider were carried down 
stream with fearful speed for a about a dozen rods, 
when they made out to land again on the same side 
from which they started. All were now satisfied 
that the parson could not get over the river. The 
experiment already made was attended with such 
fearful hazard as to preclude all thought of its repeti- 
tion. 

" ' Oh dear, what shall we do?' said Mrs. Yan Hev 
den ; * was there ever anything so unlucky ? 



278 IN'- AY DOWN EAST. 

" Betsey sighed, and Peter bit liis lips with vexation 
Peter's mother all this while had not uttered a sylla- 
ble. She was a woman that never talked, but she did 
np a great deal of deep thinking. At last, very much 
to the surprise of the whole company, she spoke out 
loud, and said : 

" ' It seems to me, if Parson Yan Brunt can't get 
over the river, he might get over the difficulty some- 
how or other.' 

" * Well, how in the world can he do it?' said Peter. 

" ' Why, you jest take hold of Betsey's hand,' said 
his mother, ' and stand up here, and let the parson 
marry you across the river.' 

"Tliis idea struck them all very favorably; they 
didn't see why it could n^t^e done. Peter again 
called to Parson Yan Brunt, and stated to him the 
proposition, and asked him if he thought there was 
anything in the law or in the Bible that could go 
against the match if it was done in that way. Parson 
Yan Brunt sat in a deep study about five minutes, 
and then said he could n't see anything in the way, 
and told them they might stand up and take hold of 
hands. Wlien they had taken their proper positions, 
and old Mrs. Yan Hey den had put her handkerchief to 
hjer face to hide the tears that began to start from her 



A DUTCH WEDDING. 2T9 

e} es, the parson read over, in a loud and solemn tone, 
the marriage ceremony, and pronounced them man 
and wife. 

"Peter then threw a couple of silver dollars across 
the river, which Parson Yan Brunt gathered up and 
put in his pocket, and then mounted his horse and 
started for home, while the company upon the other 
side of the river returned to the house of Mr. Yan 
Heyden to enjoy the wedding feast." 

By this time John Yan Ben Schoten's pipe had 
gone out, and he started to the window again with 
his lens to re-lighi it. 

" Well," said I, " I understand, -^ow, how Peter 
Yan Horn got over his difficulty, but I'll be hanged 
if I can see any clearer ^^Pl am to get over mine." 

"E'one so blind as them that won't see," said John, 
turning to his desk and pulling out his old rusty yel- 
low pocket book. He opened it, and counted out the 
sum of money which I lacked. 

" There," said he, " go and pay your note, and 
remember you can sometimes get over the difficulty^ 
when you can't gel :ver the river." 



280 'way down east. 



CHAPTER Xn. 



BILLY SNUB. 



When tlie biographer has a subject of umisudl 
magnitude and importance to deal with, it becomes 
him to lay out his work with circumspection, and 
preserve a careful method in the arrangement. He 
must dig deep, and lay his foundation firmly, before 
he attempts to rear his edifice. He must not thrust 
his hero at once and unceremoniously in the face of 
his reader, standing alon^pi erect, like a liberty-pole 
on the naked common of a country meeting-house. 
He must keep him for a while in the background, 
and with a careful and skilful progression di-ag him 
slowly up from the dark and misty slough of antiquity, 
to the full light of day. It is not sufficient to com- 
mence with the father, nor even with the grandfather ; 
propriety requires that the ancestral chain should be 
examined to the very topmost link. 

Unfortunately for the cause of letters, the origin 
and early history of the Snubs are veiled in the deep* 



BILLY SNUB. 281 

est obscurity. The most indefatigable researches 
have been sufficient to trace them back bnt a few 
generations. Their family name is not found in the 
list of the hardy adventurers who came over in the 
Mayflower, nor yet among the early colony planted 
by Captain John Smith. But though history retains 
no record of the precise point of time when they 
migrated to the "Western continent, it is certain they 
were among the early settlers of the 'New World, 
and many respectable traditions are extant of their 
ancient standing and influence in some of the older 
towns in ISTew England. There is some doubt as to 
what nation may rightfully claim the honor of sup- 
plying the blood that flows in their veins, and it is 
probable the question at^this late day can never be 
settled with entire satisfaction. Tliough the claims 
of England, France, and Germany, might each and 
all be urged with so much force as to incline the his- 
torian to believe that their blood is of mixed origin, 
yet the prevailing testimony ought to be considered 
sufficient to establish the point that John Bull is the 
father of the Snub family ; a conclusion which 
derives no small support from the general pugnacity 
of their character. It is much to be lamented that 
the ancient history of this ancient family is lost 



282 • ^WAY DOWN EAST. 

to tlie world ; but, alas ' thej had no poet, no histo« 
rian. 

The ancestors of Billj Snnb can be traced in a 
direct line only to tlie fom-tli generation. The great- 
grandfather was a lawyer of thrift and respectability ; 
a man of talents and influence ; and tradition says, if 
he was not a younger son, lie was the nephew of a 
younger son of an English earl. It cannot, there- 
fore, with any propriety, be thi'own in the face of the 
Snubs, that 

*' Their ancient but ignoble blood 
Has crept through scoundrels ever since the flood." 

But this Lawyer Snub, w^hose first name was William, 
had not the faculty or the talents to bring up his 
children to maintain the standing and dignity of their 
father. His son William was nothing more than a 
plain, respectable country farmer, who planted his 
potatoes, and hoed his corn, and mowed his hay, and 
milked his cow^s very much as other farmers do, wdth- 
out ever doing anything to become distinguished in 
the history of his times. He also was destined to see 
his posterity still in the descendant, for his son Wil- 
liam was a village shoemaker, who sat on his bench, 
and drew his thread, ani hammered his lapstone 



BILLY SNDB. 283 



/ 



from morning till niglit, the year in and year out, 
with the occasional variation of whistling while 
paring off a shoe, and singing a song of an evening 
to the lonngers in his shop. The tendency in the 
Snub family, however, was still downwards ; even 
the shoemaker was not at the bottom of the hill, for 
Ms 'son was Billy Snub the newsboy. The direct 
family line, as far back as authentic history goes, 
running thus : 

First generation, William Snub, Esquire. 

Second generation, Mr. William Snr b, the farmer. 

Third generation, Bill Snub, the s> jemaker. 

Fourth generation, Billy Snub, t^ e newsboy. 

There is a tide in families, as w jfl as " in the afffeirs 
)f men." They rise and fall, tiiough not as regu! arly, 
yet as surely as the spring and -neap tides of the 
ocean. And Billy Snub, j*fter kicking and flounder- 
ing about upon the fla*\^ at low water, has at last 
caught the flood, and nere is no knowing to what 
height of fortune h': may yet be carried. His pos- 
terity will undo^.;.btedly be in the ascendant, and it 
may not be too much to expect that in a few genera- 
tions ah< /i, we shall have his Excellency, William 
Snub, ( >vernor, &c., and perhaps William Snub, the 
,','?:>" th President of the United States. But tlie 



2S^ WAY DOWN -: AST. 

regular chain of history must not be anticipated ; and 
in order to bring Billy fairly and with sufficient clear- 
ness before the public, it is necessary to dwell for a 
few moments upon the history of Bill Snub, the shoe- 
maker, and Sally Snub, his wife. 

For a few years Bill Snub was the leading shoe- 
maker in a quiet E^ew England village. Indeed, he 
took the lead from necessity, for he had no competitor ; 
the field was all his own, and being allowed to have 
his own way, and fix his own prices, he managed to 
get a comfortable living. Being well to do in the 
world, and much given to whistling and singing, his 
shop gradually became the favorite resort of all the 
idlers in the village. Bill's importance was magnified 
in his own eyes by this gathering around him almost 
every evening, to say nothing of the rainy afternoons. 
Unconsciously to himself he encouraged this lounging 
habit of his neighbors by administering to their little 
idle comforts. In one corner of his shop was a broken 
chair for an extra seat, in another a square block of 
timber left from the frame of the new school-house, 
and in still another corner was a stout side of sole 
leather, rolled up and snugly tied, which answered 
very well for a seat for three. A half-peck of apples, 
and a mug or two of cider, always at Bill's expense, 



BILLY SNUB. 285 

frequently added to the allurements of the place, and 
Bill's songs, and Bill's jokes, no matter how little 
music or wit they contained, were always applauded. 
This state of things silently, but gradually, made sad 
encroachments upon Bill's habits of industry. His 
customers were put off from day to day, and when 
Satm'day night came, a bushel basket full of boots 
and shoes remained in his shop waiting repairs, to say 
nothing of Sunday new ones that had been promised, 
but not touched. Many of his customers had to stay 
at rhome on the Sabbath, or go to meeting barefoot. 
The result of all this was, that an interloper soon 
came into the place, and opened a shop directly 
opposite to that of Bill. The way was already open 
for him for a good run of business. Bill's customers, 
exasperated at their numerous disappointments, dis- 
carded him at once, and flocked to the new comer. 
In a week's time. Bill had nothing to do. He might 
be seen standing in his shop door, or with his head 
out of the window, hour after hour, watching his old 
customers" as they entered the shop of his rival. He 
would go home to his meals in ill-humor, and scold 
his wife for his bad luck. And if little Billy, then 
six years old, came round him with his accustomed 
prattle and play, he was pretty sure tc be silenced 



286 'way down east. 

with a smart box on the ear. Things grew worse and 
worse with him, and in a few months want was not 
only staring him in the face, but had actually seized 
him with such a firm gripe as to bring him to a full 
stand. Something must be done ; Bill was uncom- 
fortable. Whistling or singing to the bare walls of 
his shop, produced an echo that chilled and annoyed 
him exceedingly. Food and clothing began to be 
among the missing, and he soon discovered that walk- 
ing the streets did but little towards replenishing his 
wardrobe ; nor would scolding or even beating his 
wife supply his table. 

At last, throwing the whole blame upon the place 
and its people where he lived, he resolved at once to 
pull up stakes and be off. 

" And where are you going. Bill ?" said his wife, 
wiping the tears from her eyes, as she saw her hus- 
band commence the work of packing up. 

" It's none of your business. Sail," said the husband 
gruffly. " But I'm going where there's work enough 
for all creation; where there's more folks to mend 
slioes for than you can shake a stick at." 

" Well, where is it Bill ? do tell us ;" said Sally in 
an anxious tone. " If it is only where we can get vic- 
tuals to eat, and clothes to wear, I shall be thankful " 



BILLY SNUB. 287 

"Well, then/' said Bill, "I'm going tc .Jie biggest 
city in the United States, where there's work enough 
all weathers." 

" Well, that's Boston," said Sally. 

" ISTo, 'taint Boston," said Bill ; "it's a place as big 
as four Bostons. It's l^ew York; I'm going right 
into the middle of 'New York ; so pack up your duds 
about the quickest; for I ain't going to stop for 
nobody." 

And sure enough, a few mornings after this, among 
the deck passengers of one of the steamers that arrived 
at New York, was no less a personage than Bill Snub, 
the shoemaker, with his wife Sally and his son Billy. 
Tlie group landed, and stared at every object they 
met, with a wild and wondering expression, that 
seemed to indicate pretty clearly that they were not 
accustomed to sights and scenes like those around 
them. Indeed, they had never before been in a large 
town, and hardly out of their quiet country village. 
Each bore a bundle, containing the whole amount of 
their goods and chattels, which had been reduced to 
a few articles of wearing apparel, a box or two of 
eatables, which they had taken for their journey, and 
a few tools of his trade, which Bill had had the fore- 
sight to preserve in order to begin the world anew 



288 'way down east. ' 

Bewildered by the noise and bustle, and crowds of 
people on every side, tliey knew not which way to 
turn or what to do. They knew not a person nor a 
street in the city, and had no very definite object in 
yiew. Instinctively following the principal current 
of passengers that landed from the boat, they soon 
found themselves in Broadway. Here, as a small stream 
blends with a large one into which it flows, their com- 
pany was presently merged and lost in the general 
throng of that great thoroughfare. They gradually 
lost sight of the familiar faces they had seen on board 
the boat, and when the last one disappeared, and 
they could no longer discern in the vast multitude hur- 
rying to and fro, and down the street, a single indivi- 
dual they had ever seen before, a sense of solitude 
and home-sickness came over them, that was most 
ovei-powering. Tliey stopped short on the sidewalk, 
and Bill looked in his wife's face, and his wife looked 
in his, and little Billy stood between them, and looked 
up in the faces of both. 

''What are you going to do?" said Sally. 

"Going to do?" said Bill; "I'm going to hire orut; 
or else hire a shop and work on my own hook." 

Just at that moment a gentleman brushed past hia 
elbow, and Bill hailed him. 



BILLY SNUB. 289 

"I say, mister, jon don't know of nobody that 
wants to hire a shoemaker, do ye ?" 

The gentlem* n turned and glanced at him a 
moment, and th^n hurried on without saying a word. 

" I should thir k he might have manners enough to 
answer a civil question," muttered Bill to himself, a^ 
he shouldered h s bag and moved on up -fche street. 
Presently they passed a large shoe store. 

" Ah, here's the place !" said Bill ; " we've found 
it at last. O, S*:ll, did you ever see such an allfired 
sight of shoes? Lay down your bundle, and stop 
here to the doo •, while I go in and make a bargain 
for work. So in Bill went,, and addressed himself to 
one of the clerks 

" I say, mister, you've got sich an everlastin' lot of 
shoes here, I guc 3S may be you'd like to hire a good 
shoemaker ; and f you do, I'm the boy for you." 

The clerk lau, :hed, and told him he must ask the 
boss about that. 

" Ask the wh£ ': ?" said Bill. 

" Ask the boss " said the clerk, who began to relish 
the conversation 

" I shan't do I a sich thing," said Bill ; " I did n't 

come to IS'ew York to talk with bossy-calves nor pigs ; 

and if you are a calf I don't want any more to say to 

13 



290 ' W A Y D O W N E A S T . 

you ; "but if you want to hire a good shoemaker, I tell 
you I'm the chap for you." Here the proprietor of 
the store, seeing the clerks gathering round Bill, to 
the neglect of their customei-s, came forward and told 
him he did not wish to hire any workmen, and he 
had better go along. 

" But I'll work cheap," said Bill, " and I'm a first- 
rate workman. Here's a pair of shoes on my feet 
I've wore for four months, and they han't ripped a 
stitch yet." 

" But I don't want to hire," said the man of the 
store, with some impatience ; " so you had better go 
along." 

" But maybe we can make a bargain," said Bill ; 
" I tell ye, I'll work cheap." 

" I tell you, I don't want to hire," said the man ; 
" so go out of the store." 

" You need n't be so touchy," said Bill ; " I guess 
I've seen as good folks as you are, before to-day. 
Come now, what'U you give me a month ?" 

" I'll give you what you won't want," said the man, 
" if you are not out of this store in one minute." As 
he said this, he approached Bill with such a menacing 
appearance, that the shoemaker thought it time to 
retreat, and hastened out of the door. As he reached 



BILLY (SNUB. 291 

the sidewalk, lie turned round and hailed the man of 
the store again. 

" I say, mister, hav n't you got a shoemaker's shop 
you'll let to me ?" 

The man said he had a good room for that pm-pose. 

" Well, what do you ask a year for it ?" said Bill. 

".Three hundred dollars, with good security," re- 
plied the shopman. 

" Three hundred dollars ! My gracious ! Come 
now, none of your jokes. Tell us how much you ask 
for it, 'cause I want to hire." 

" I tell you I ask three hundred dollars," said the 
man ; " but it's of no use for you to talk about it ; 
you can't give the security." 

" Oh, you go to grass," said Bill ; " I don't want 
none of your jokes. I've hired as good a shop as 
ever a man waxed a thread in, for fifteen dollars a 
year ; and if you are a mind to let me have yourn for 
the same, I'll go and look at it." 

The man laughed in his face, and turned away to 
wait upon his customers ; and a little waggish boy, 
who had been standing by and listening to the con- 
versation, p_aced his finger against his nose, and look- 
:ng up askai.ce at Bill, exclaimed, " Ain't ye green?" 

Poor Bil- began to think he had got among a 



292 'way down east. 

strange set of people, and, shouldering his bag, lie 
marclied up Broadway with his wife and Billy at his 
heels, till he came to the Astor House. Here he 
made a halt, for it looked to him like a sort of place 
for head-q[uarters. The building was so imposing in 
its appearance, and so many people were going in 
and coming out, and everything around was so brisk 
and busy, he thought surely it must be just the place 
to look for business. So laying down their baggage, 
he and Sally and Billy quietly took a seat on the 
broad granite steps. He soon began to ply his 
inquiries to all sorts of people, asking if they could 
tell him of anybody that wanted to hire a shoemaker, 
or that had a shoemaker's shop to let. M.oiit of them 
would hurry by him without any further notice than 
a hasty glance ; others would laugh, and some would 
stop, and ask a few questions, or crack a few heartless 
jokes, and then turn away. After a while a throng 
of boys had gathered around him, and by various 
annoyances rendered his position so uncomfortable, 
that he was glad to escape, and shouldering his bag- 
gage, he and his group wandered on with heavy 
hearts up the street. 

Most of the day passed in this way without any 
profitable result, and as night approached they grew 



BILLY SNUB. 293 

wear} and desponding. They had no money left to 
provide themselves with a home for the night, Ihongh 
they had provision enongh for a meal or two remain- 
ing in their wallets. Bill Imd fonnd it ntterly impos- 
sible to make any impression upon any one he had 
met in the city, except so far as to be laughed at. 
He conld get no one's ear to listen to his ^ tory, and 
he conld see no prospect of employment. Sally had 
several times suggested that this great road which 
they had been up and down so much — for they had 
been almost the whole length of Broadway two or 
three times — was not exactly the best road for them 
to go in, and she did n't think but what they might be 
likely to do better to go into one of the smaller roads, 
where the folks didn't look so grand. And, though 
Bill had been of different opinion through the day, 
he now began to think that Sally might be right. 
Looking down one of the cross streets that seemed to 
descend into a sort of valley, quite a different country 
appeared to open to them. They could see old 
decayed-looking houses, with broken windows and 
dirty sidewalks ; they could see half-naked children, 
running about and playing in the street ; they could 
see bareheaded women and ragged men lounging 
about the doors, and numerous swine rooting in th^ 



294 'way down east. 

gutters. The prospect was too inviting to be resisted. 
Tliej felt at once that there they conld find sympathy, 
and hastened down the street. Arriving in the midst 
of this paradise, they deliberately laid down their 
luggage on the sidewalk, and seating themselves on 
the steps of an old wooden house, felt as if they had 
at last found a place of rest. They opened their bun- 
dles and began to partake of a little food. Heads 
were out of a hundred windows in the neighborhood 
gazing at them. Childi-en stopped short in the midst 
of their running, and stood around them ; and lei- 
surely, one after another, a stout woman or a sturdy 
loafer came nigh and entered into conversation. As 
Bill related his simple story, a universal sympathy 
was at once awakened in the hearts of all the hearers. 
They all declared he should have a shop in the neigh- 
borhood and they would give him their patronage. 

Patrick O'Flannegan, who lived in the basement of 
the old house on whose steps they were seated, at 
once invited them to partake of the hospitalities of 
his mansion, saying he had but nine in his family, and 
his room was large, and they should be welcome to 
occupy a corner of it till they could find a better home. 
Of course the invitation was accepted, and the gi-oup 
follbwed Patrick down the steep dirty steps that led 



BILLY SNUB. 295 

tc his damp apartment. The tops of the low windows 
were about upon a level with the sidewalk, bringing 
almost the entire apartment below the surface of the 
ground. The dim light that struggled down through 
the little boxed-up dusty windows, showed a straw- 
bed in two several corners of the room, three or four 
rickety chairs, a rough bench, small table, tea-kettle, 
frying-pan, and several other articles of household 
comforts. 

"You can lay your things in that corner," said 
Patrick, pointing to a vacant corner of the room, 
" and we'll soon get up some good straw for you to 
sleep on." In short. Bill and his family at once 
became domesticated in this subterranean tenement, 
which proved to be not merely a temporary residence, 
but their home for years. The limits of this history 
will not allow space to follow the fortunes of Bill 
through three or four of the first years of his city life. 
It must be sufficient to state generally, that though he 
found kindness and sympathy in his new associates, 
he found little else that was beneficial. The atmos- 
phere around him was not favorable to industry, and 
his habits in that respect never improved, but rather 
grew worse. His neighbors did not work, and why 
fthould he? His neighbors were fond of listening to 



296 'way do w T'T e a b '■ . 

his songs, and why should he not sin^^- to them? His 
neighbors drank beei^, and porter, ar d sling, and gin 
toddj, and Bill needed but little c )axing to drink 
vdth them. And he did drink with t] em, moderately 
at first, but deeper and oftener from i lonth to month, 
and in three years' time he became a perfect sot. 

The schooling that little Bill receiT 3d during these 
three years was eminently calculate 1 to fit him for 
his future profession. He had slept o i the floor, lying 
down late and rising up early, till lis frame was as 
hardy and elastic as that of a your g panther. He 
had been flogged so much by a dru iken father, and 
had his ears boxed so often by a fret sd and despond- 
ing mother, that he had lost all fep • of their blows, 
and even felt a sort of uneasiness, as though matters 
were not all right, if by any chance the day passed 
by without receiving them. He ha I lived on such 
poor diet, and so little of it, that po ;ato-skins had a 
fine relish, and a crust of bread wf i a luxury. He 
had battled with boys in the street til . he had become 
such an adept at fisticuffs, that boys of nearly twice 
his size stood in fear of him. And .le had so often 
been harshly driven from the doors of the wealthy, 
where he had been sent to beg cold victuals, that he 
had come to regard mankind in general as a set of 



BILLY SNUB. 297 

ferocious animals, against whose fangs it was neces- 
sary to be constantly on his ^lard. In short, Billy 
had been beaten abont from post to pillar, and pillar 
to post so much, and had rubbed his head against so 
many sorts of people, that it had become pretty well 
filled with ideas of the hardest kind. 

When Billy was about ten years old, he came run- 
ning in one day in great glee, with a sixpence in his 
hand, which he had found in the street. As soon as 
his father heard the announcement of it, he started 
up, and took down a junk bottle from a little shelf 
against the wall, and told Billy to take the sixpence, 
and go to the grocer's on the corner, and get the 
worth of it in rum. Sally begged that he would not 
send for rum, but let. little Billy go to the baker's and 
get a loaf of bread, for she had not had a mouthful of 
anything to eat for the day, and it was then noon. 
But Bill insisted upon having the rum, and told Billy 
to go along and get it, and be quick about it, or he 
would give him such a licking as he had not had for 
six months. Billy took the bottle, and started ; but 
as he left the door, his cheek reddened, and his lip 
curled with an expression of determination which it 
had not been accustomed to wear. He walked down 

the street, thinking of the consequences that would 

13* 



298 WAY DOWN EAST. 

result from carrying home a bottle of rnm. His 
father would be drunk all the afternoon, and through 
the night- His mother and himself would have to go 
without food, probably be abused and beaten, and 
when night came, would find no repose. 

He arrived at the grocer's, but he could not go in. 
He passed on a little farther, in anxious, deep thought. 
At last he stopped suddenly, lifted the bottle above 
his head, and then dashed it upon the pavement with 
all his might, breaking it into a thousand pieces. 

" There," said Billy to himself, " I'll never carry 
any more rum home as long as I live. But I s'pose 
father '11 lick me half to death ; but I don't care if 
he does, I'll never carry any more rum home as long 
as I live." 

He brushed a tear from his eye, and bit his lips, as 
he stood looking at the fragments of the bottle a 
moment, and then passed on farther down the street. 
But now the question of what he should do, came 
home to him with painful force. If he returned back 
to the house, and encountered his enraged father, he 
was sure to be half killed. He wandered on, uncon- 
cious where he went, till he reached the Park. Here 
he met a newsboy ciyiiig papers, with great earnest- 
ness and tremendous force of lungs. Billy watched 



B 1 I, L Y S N U E . 299 

him for tlie space of ten minutes, and saw liira sell 
half-a-dozen papers. Thej contained important news 
by a foreign arrival, and people seemed eager to get 
hold of them. A new idea flashed across Billy's 
mind. Why could not he sell newspapers, and get 
money, as well as that boy ! His resolution was at 
once formed, with almost the strength and firmness 
of manhood. It required capital, to be sure, to start 
with, but luckily he had the capital in his pocket. 
The rum bottle had been broken, and he still retained 
the sixpence. He hastened immediately to the 
publishing office of the paper he had just seen sold. 
When he aiTived there, he found quite a crowd of 
newsboys pressing up to the counter, and clamorous 
for papers ; for the publisher could not supply them 
fast enough to meet the demand. Billy edged his 
way in among them, and endeavored to approach the 
couiiter. But he was suddenly pushed back by two 
or three boys at once, who exclaimed, " What new- 
comer is this ? Here's boys enough here now, so you 
better be off." 

Another sung out " Go home, you ragbag, your 
mother don't know you're out !" 

At this, one of the boys looked round that happen- 
f,d to know Billy, and he cried out, " Ah Billy Snub 



300 'way down east. 

clear out of this ; here's no place for you ! No boja 
comes to this office that don't wear no lats and shoes?" 

Billy felt the force of this argument, for he was bare- 
headed and barefooted, besides being sadly out at 
knees and elbows ; and looking aroui d, he perceived 
that all the boys in the room had soi lething on their 
heads, and something on their feet. . Ee began to feel 
as though he had perhaps got amon^ the aristocracy 
of the newsboys, and shrank back a little, and stood 
in a corner of the room. The boys however, were 
not disposed to let him rest in peace there. Several 
of them gathered around him, tauiting him with 
jokes and jeers, and began to crowd against him to 
hustle him out of the room. 

" ITow talvc care," said Billy, " fc * I won't stand 
that from none of you." 

" You won't, will you ?" said the bf ys, burstmg out 
into a roar of laughter ; and one of i hem took Billy 
by the nose, and attemj)ted to pull 1 im to the door. 
Billy sprang like a young catamoun. ; and although 
he was considerably smaller and y >unger than his 
assailant, he gave him such a well-dii ^cted blow u]3ou 
tlie chest that he laid him sprawling upon the Hoor. 
Upon this, two or three more came a him with great 
fury ; but Billy's sleight of hand wa:, exhibited with 



BILLY SNUB, 80^ 

SO much force and skill, that he made his way through 
them, and ker>t his coast clear ; and when a stronger 
reinforcement was about to attack him, the publisher 
interfered, and ordered them to let that boy alone. 
Still they were disposed to continue their persecu- 
tions, till the publisher took up a long whip, and 
crocked it over their heads, and told them he would 
horsewhip the first one that dared to meddle with 
him. And in order to make amends to Billy for the 
ill-treatment he had received, he said he should now 
be served with papers before any of the rest. He 
accordingly took Billy's six cents, and handed him 
three papers, and told him to sell them at three cents 
apiece. 

Billy eagerly grasped his papers, and ran into the 
street. He had not been gone more than fifteen 
minutes, before he returned with nine cents, which 
he had received for the papers, and one more, which 
he had found in the street. This enabled him to pur- 
chase five papers ; and he found the publisher ready 
to wait upon him in preference to the other boys ; so 
he was soon dispatched on his second cruise. He 
was not many minutes in turning his five papers into 
fifteen cents cash. This operation was repeated soma 
half dozen times in the course of the afternoon, and 



30^ 'way down east. 

when night came, Billy found his stock of cash had 
increased to about a dollar. 

This was a great overturn in Billy's fortune, suffi- 
cient to upset the heads of most boys of his age ; but 
though his head swam a little on first ascertaining the 
great amount of money in his pocket, his strength 
and firmness of character sustained him, so that he 
was enabled to bear it with a good degree of compo- 
sure. As the shadows of night gathered around him, 
Billy began to turn his thoughts homeward. But 
what could he do ? He knew his father too well to 
venture himself in his presence, and had no hesita- 
tion in coming to the conclusion that he must now, 
for the first time in his life, spend the night away 
from home. Still he instinctively wandered on 
through the streets that led him towards home, for 
the thought that his mother had probably been with 
out food the whole day, pressed heavily upon his 
mind, and he was anxious to contrive some way to 
afford her relief. As he approached the neighbor- 
hood of his home, or rather the place where his 
parents resided, for it was no longer a home to him, 
he stopped at a grocer's, and purchased a sixpenny 
loaf of bread, sixpence worth of gingerbread, and 
half a dozen herrings, for which he paid another six- 



BILLY SNTB. 303 

pence. With tliese he turned into the street, and 
walked thoughtfully and carefully towards the house, 
hesitating, and looking frequently around him, lest 
his father might be out, and suddenly seize him. At 
last he reached the house. He stopped cautiously on 
the sidewalk, and looked, and listened. There was a 
dim light in the basement, but he heard no sound. 
He stepped lightly down the steps as far as the first 
window, and through the sash, which had lost a pane 
of glass, he dropped his bundle of provisions, and 
then ran with all his speed down the street. "When 
he reached the first corner he stopped and looked 
back, and by the light of the street lamps, he saw 
his father and mother come out, and stand on the 
sidewalk two or three minutes, looking earnestly 
around them in every direction. They then went 
quietly back to their room, and Billy cautiousl^r 
returned again to the house. He placed himself as 
near the window as he could, without being discovered 
from within, and listened to what was going on. 
His mother took the little bundle to the table, and 
opened it. Her eyes filled with tears the moment 
she saw what it contained, for her first thought rested 
upon Billy. She could not divine by what means 
she had received such a timely gift, but somehow or 



304 'way down kast. 

other, she could not help thinking that Billy was in 
some way connected with it. 

" Come, Bill," said Sally to her husband, " we've 
g jt a good supper at last ; now set down and eat some." 

Bill drew up to the table, and ate as one who had 
been fasting for twenty-four hours. After his appetite 
began to be satisfied, said he, " Kow, Sail, where do 
you think all this come from ?" 

" Well, I'm sure I can't tell anything about it," said 
Sally ; " but I should n't be afraid to lay my life on 
it, that Billy knows something about it." 

" So does your granny know something about it, as 
much as Billy," said Snub, contemptuously. " All 
Billy cares about is to spend that sixpence, and eat it 
up ; and now he dares n't come home. I wish I had 
hold of the little rascal, I'd shake his daylights out ; 
I'd lick him till he could n't stand." 

" Oh, you're too cruel to that boy," said Sally ; 
" Billy's a good child, and would do anything for me, 
and for you too, for all you whip him so much. And 
1 believe it's his means that got somebody to give us 
this good supper to night. I hope the dear child will 
come home pretty soon, for I feel worried 'most to 
death about him." 

" I hope he'll come, too," said Snub, " and Fve a 



BTLLY SNUS. 305 

good mind to g. and take a look after him, for I want 
to lick him most awfully." 

At this, Billy began to feel as though it would be 
hazardous for him to remain any longer, so he hastened 
away down the street to seek a resting-place for the 
night. This he found at last, in the loft of a livery 
stable, where he crept away unobserved, and slept 
quietly till morning. True, he had one or two golden 
dreams, excited by his remarkable fortune the pre- 
vious day, and when he woke his first impulse was to 
put his hand in his pocket, and ascertain whether he 
was really in possession of the fortune he had been 
dreaming of, or whether he was the same poor Billy 
Snub that he was two days before. The three hard 
silver quarters which he felt in his pocket rousea Aim 
to the reality of his situation, and he sprang from his 
hard couch, soon after daylight, resolved to renew the 
labors he had so successfully followed the day before, 
He had now a good capital to start with, and could 
work to a better advantage than the previous day. 
He accordingly soon supplied himself with an armful 
of papers, and placed himself on the best routes, and 
at the best hours. The result was, that though it wag 
not properly a news-day, there being no subject of 
special interest to give a demand for papers, yet, by 



306 'way down east. 

his diligence and perseverance, he managed to clear, 
in the conrse of the day almost another dollar, leaving 
in his pocket, when night came on, nearly a dollar 
and three quarters. 

Having completed his work for the day, his 
thoughts instinctively turned to the home of his 
parents. He felt an intense desire to go and share 
with them the joys of his good fortune ; but he dared 
not meet his father;, for he knew well that a severe 
punishment would be inflicted upon him, and that his 
money would be taken from him to purchase rum. 
He could not, however, go to rest for the night with- 
out getting a sight of his mother, if it were possible, 
and purchasing something for her comfort. He 
accordingly went and purchased some articles of pro- 
vision, tq the amount of a quarter of a dollar, rolled 
them in a paper, and made his way homeward. The 
evening was rather dark, and gave him a favorable 
opportunity to approach the house without being dis- 
covered. He saw his mother, through the window, 
sitting on a bench on the opposite side of the room, 
with her head reclining on her hand, and apparently 
weeping. He could also hear his father walking in 
another part of the room, though he could not see 
him. He crept carefully to the window, dropped his 



BlLx.Y SNUB. 307 

paper of provisions into the room, and turned away 
down tlie street as fast as lie could run. 

He went again to his solitary lodgings, and rested 
till morning, when he arose with fresh vigor, and 
resumed the labors of the day. The same exertions 
and perseverance produced the same successful results 
he had met with the two previous days ; and the even- 
ings saw the table of his parents again spread with a 
comfortable meal, which was improved this time by 
the addition of a little fruit. 

Thus, day after day, and week after week, Billy 
successfully followed his new profession of newsboy, 
working hard and faring hard, in season and out of 
season, early and late, rain or shine. His lodging 
was sometimes ia a stable, sometimes among the open 
market stalls, and sometimes under a portico of some 
public building. His food was of the coarsest and 
cheapest kind, bread and cheese, and potatoes and 
fish ; and sonaetimes, when he had done a good day's 
work, he would treat himself to an apple or two, or 
some other fruit that happened to be in season. 

But Billy never forgot his parents. Kegularly 
every night he contrived to supply them with a quan- 
tity of food sufficient for the following day; some- 
times carrying it himself, and dropping it in th« 



308 WAY DOWN EAST. 

window, and sometimes, when the evening was light, 
and he was afraid of being discovered, employing 
another boy to carry it for him, while he stood at the 
corner, and watched to see that his errand was faith- 
fully executed. At the end of three months, Billy 
fonnd himself in possession of thirty dollars in cash, 
notwithstanding he had in the meantime purchased 
himself a pretty good second-hand cap, a little too 
small to be sure, but nevertheless he managed to keep 
it on the top of his head ; also a second-hand frock 
coat, which was somewhat too large, but whose capa- 
cious pockets he foimd exceedingly convenient for car- 
rying his surplus gingerbread and apples. He had 
also, in the meantime, sent his mother calico sufficient 
to make her a gown, besides sundry other little arti- 
cles of wearing apparel. He had been careful all this 
time not to come in contact with his father, though he 
once came very near falling into his hands. His 
father discovered him at a little distance in the street, 
and ran to seize him, but Billy saw him in time to flee 
round a corner, and through an alley way that led to 
another street, and so escaped. 

Bill Snub at last came to the conclusion that his 
Bon Billy was doing a pretty fair business in some- 
thing or other, for he had become satisfied that thf 



BILLY SNUB. 309 

food which he and his wife daily received was 
furnished by Billy, as well as occasional articles of his 
wife's clothing. And when he ascertained from some 
of the boys of Billy's acquaintance, that he had pro- 
bably laid up some thirty or forty dollars in cash, 
Bill at once conceived the design of getting possession 
of the money. As he conld not catch Billy in the 
street, he formed a plan to get the aid of police officers ; 
and, in order to do that, he found it necessary to make 
charges against Billy. He accordingly repaired to 
the police office, and entered a complaint against his 
boy for having stolen thirty or forty dollars of his 
money, which he was spending about the streets. He 
described the boy to the police officers, who were soon 
dispatched in search of him, with orders to arrest him, 
and see if any money could be found upon him. As 
Billy was flying about in all parts of the city, selling 
his papers, it was nearly night before the officers came 
across him. He had just sold his last paper, and was 
walking leisurely along the street, eating a piece of 
gingerbread and an apple, when a policeman came 
suddenly behind him and seized him by the shoulder. 
Billy looked up with surprise, and asked the man 
what he wanted. 

" I'll let you know what I want, you little rascal V^ 



310 'way down east. 

said the officer, harshly. "Where did you get all 
that gingerbread and apples, sir ?" 

" I bought it," said Billy. 

" You bought it, did ye ? and where did you get 
the money, sir ?" 

" I earnt it," said Billy. 

" You earnt it did ye ? and how did you earn it, 
sir?" 

" By selling newspapers," said Billy. 

"Tell me none of your lies, sir?" said the man, 
giving him an extra shake by the shoulder. " ISTow, 
sir, how much money have you got in your pockets?" 

" I've got some," said Billy, trembling and trying 
to pull away from the man. 

" Got some, have you ?" said the officer, holding 
him by a still firmer gripe. " How much have you 
got, sir? Let me see it ?" 

"I shan't show my money to nobody," said Billy, 
*' so you let me alone." 

" "We'll see about that, sir, when we get to the 
police office," said the man, dragging Billy away by 
the shoulder. 

It was so late in the day when they arrived at the 
office, that the examining magistrates had left, and 
gone home. The constable, tlierefore, with one of his 



BILLY SNUB. 311 



fellow-officers, proceeded to search Billy, and Ibnnd 
Bomething over thirty dollars of good money in his 
pockets. Billy persisted that he had earned the 
money by selling papers ; but the officers, with muck 
severity, told him to leave off his lying, for boys that 
sold papers didn't have so much money as that. 
They knew all about it ; he had stolen the money, 
and he must be locked up till next morning, when he 
would have his trial. So they took Billy's money 
from him, and locked him up in a dark gloomy room 
for the night. A sad night was this for poor Billy. 
At first he was so bewildered and shocked at the 
thought of being locked up alone all night, that he 
hardly realized where he was, or what was going on. 
As they pushed him into his solitary apartment, and 
closed the door upon him, and turned the 1-arge 
grating key, he instinctively clung to the door latch, 
and tried to pull it open. He called to them as loud 
as he could scream, to open the door and let him out, 
and they might have all the money in welcome. He 
could get no answer, however, to his calls ; and when 
he stopped and listened, the silence around him 
pressed upon him with such appalling power, that he 
almost fell to the floor. He reeled across the room 
two or three times, and returned agaii? to the dooi 



312 'way down east. 

but there was no chance to escape, and the- conviction 
was forced npop him that he was indeed locked up, 
and all alone, without the power of speaking to any 
lilting being. He sank down upon a bench in a 
comer of the room, and wept a long time most 
bitterly. When his tears had somewhat subsided, 
and he roused himself up again so as to look about, 
the night had closed in and left him in such deep 
darkness that he could not see across the room. He 
rose and walked about, feeling his way by the walls, 
and continued to walk a great part of the night, for 
there was nothing to rest on but the floor or the little 
bench, and he could not have slept if he had had the 
softest bed in the world. He could not imagine the 
cause of his imprisonment, for he was sure he had 
injured no one ; but what grieved him mostj was the 
thought that his poor father and mother were proba- 
bly without food, as he had been prevented from 
carrying anything home that evening. At the 
though t of his mother, his tears gushed forth again in 
a copious flood. 

Towards morning he sank down exhausted upon 
the floor, and fell into a short sleep. Still he was 
awake again by daylight, and up and walking the 
roo'11. The morning seemed long, very long, to him, 



BILLY SNUB. 313 

for it was ten o'( lock before the officers came to take 
him before the nagistrate. He was glad to see the 
door open again, even though it was to carry him to 
court, for the idf a of being tried for stealing was not 
so horrible to hi: a as being locked up there alone in 
that dark room. 

The money wi s given to the magistrate, and Billy 
w^as placed at th 3 bar to answer to the charge against 
him. The office - stated that he had found the boy in 
the street by th( description he had of him, and on 
searching him, 1 he money was found in his pockets. 

" Well, that's a clear case," said the magistrate ; 
"precious rogu( — large amount for a boy — thirty 
dollars — that's t orth three months' imprisonment ; 
the boy must be locked up for three months." 

Billy shuddered, and began to weep. 

" It's too late to cry now," said the magistrate, 
" you should haT e thought of that before ; but, after 
committing the crime, there's no way to escape the 
punishment. W lat induced you to steal this money?" 
' I didn't stea it, sir," said Billy, very earnestly. 
* Ah, that is mly making a bad matter worse," 
said the magistrf te ; " the best way for you is to con- 
fess the whole, a: id resolve to reform and do better in 

future," 

U 



314 'way down east. 

" But I did n't steal it," said Billy with increasing 
energy ; " I earnt it, every cent of it !" 

" You earnt it !" said the magistrate, peering over 
his spectacles at Billy ; " and how did you earn it ?" 

" By selling newspapers," said Billy. 

There was something so frank and open in the 
boy's appearance, that the magistrate began to wake 
up to the subject a little. He asked the officer if the 
money had been identified by the loser. The officer 
replied that the particular money had not been iden- 
tified, only the amount. 

" Well, bring the man forward," said the magis- 
trate ; " he must identify his money." 

The officer then called up Bill Snub, who was 
stowed away in a distant corner of the room, appa- 
rently desirous of keeping out of sight. This was the 
first intimation that Billy had that his father was his 
accuser, and it gave him such a shock that he sank 
down upon the seat, and almost fainted away. The 
magistrate asked Snub if that was his money, found 
on the boy. Snub said it was. 

" Well, what sort of money was it that you lost 1" 
said the magistrate. " You "nust describe it." 

" Oh, it was — ^it was all good money," said Snub, 
coloring. 



BILLY SNUB. 315 

''But J Oil must be particular," said iJie magistrate, 
"and describe the money. What kind of money 
was it?" 

" Well, some of it was paper money, and some of it 
was hard money," said Snub ; " it's all good money." 

" But how much of it was hard money ?" said the 
magistrate. 

"Well, considerable of it," said Bill; "I don't 
know exactly how much." 

" What banks were the bills on ?" said the magis- 
trate. 

" Well, I don't know exactly," said Bill, " but I 
believe it was some of the banks of this city." 

" How large were the bills ?" said the magistrate. 

" Well, some of 'em was larger, and some smaller," 
said Bill. 

" This business does not look very clear," said the 
magistrate. " What is your name, sir ?" 

" Bill Snub," was the answer. 

" And what is the boy's name ?" 

" His name is Billy Snub, Sir." 

" Is he any connection of yours ?" said the magis- 
trate. 

" I'm sorry to own it, sir, but he's my only son, 
bad as he is." 



316 'way dc^^n East. 

The magistrate, who had been looking over the 
top of his spectacles some time, now took them oif, 
and fixed his eyes sternly on Bill. 

" This business must be unravelled, sir. There is 
no evidence as yet on either side ; but there is some- 
thing mysterious about it. It must be miravelled, 
sir." 

At this, a little boy of about Billy's age, came for- 
ward, and told the magistrate that he knew something 
about the matter. 

" Let him be sworn," said the magistrate ; " and 
now tell all you know about it." 

"Well, I've seen Billy Snub selling newspapers 
'most every day this three or four months ; and I've 
known him to make as much as a dollar a-day a good 
many times. And I've known he's been laying up 
his money all the time, only a little, jest enough to 
buy his victuals with, and about a quarter of a dollar 
a day that he took to buy victuals with for his father 
and mother. And I've been a good many times in 
the evening, and put the victuals into the window 
where his father and mother lived, because Billy 
did n't dare to go himself, for fear his father wDuld 
catch him^ and lick him 'most to death for breaking 
the rum-bottle when he sent him to get some rum. 



BILLY SNUB. 317 

And I know Billy had got up to al)Out thirty dollars, 
for I've seen him count it a good many times. And 
yesterday his father was asking me what Billy was 
about all the time ; and said Billy was a lazy feller, 
and never w^ould earn anything in the world. And 
1 told him Billy was n't lazy, for he'd got more than 
thirty dollars now, that he'd eamt selling papers. 
And then he said, if Billy had got thirty dollars, he'd 
have it somehow or other before he was two days 
older." 

" You may stop there," said the magistrate ; " the 
evidence is full and clear enough." Then turning to 
Bill, he continued, with great severity of manner, 
" and, as for you, sir, for this inhuman and wicked 
attempt to ruin your own son, you stand committed to 
prison, and at hard labor for the term of one year." 
Then he turned to Billy, and said, " Here, my noble 
lad, take your money and go home and take care of 
your mother. Continue to be industrious and honest, 
and never fear but that you will prosper." 

The rest of this history is soon told. Billy was 
really rejoiced at the opportunity of visiting his 
mother in peace and safety again, and of once more 
having a home where he could rest in quietness at 
night Bill Snub had to serve out his year in prison, 



^ 



318 'way down east. 

but Billy constantly supplied him with all the com- 
forts and necessaries of life which his situation admit- 
ted, and always visited him as often as once a week. 
And when he came out of prison he was an altered 
man. He joined the temperance society, and quitted 
the rum-bottle forever. He became more industrious, 
worked at his trade, and earned enough to support 
himself and Sailer comfortably. 

' Billy still pursued his profession with untiring 
industry and great success. He some time since 
purchased a small house and lot in the outskirts of 
the city for a residence for his parents ; and at this 
present writing he has several hundred dollars in the 
savings bank, besides many loose coins profitably 
invested in various other Avays. He is active, 
healthy, honest, and persevering, and aestined beyond 
doubt to become a man of wealth and honorable dis- 
tinction, whose name will shine on the page of history 
as the illustrious head of an illustrious line of Snubs. 



THE PrMPKIN PKESHET. 3lO 



CHAPTER Xni. 

THE PUMPKIN FEE SHE T. 

Aunt Patty Stow is sixt j-seven years old ; not quite 
as spry as a girl of sixteen, but a great deal tougher 
— she has seen tough times in her day. She can do 
as good a day^s work as any woman within twenty 
miles of her, and as for walking, she can beat a regi- 
ment. General Taylor's army on the march moved 
about fifteen miles a day, but Aunt Patty, on a pinch, 
could walk twenty. She has been spending the sum- 
mer with her niece in I^ew York ; for Aunt Patty 
has nieces, abundance of them, though she has no 
children ; sh(:j never had any. Aunt Patty never was 
married, and, for the last thirty years, whenever the 
question has been asked her, why she did not get 
married, her invariable reply has been, " she would 
not have the best man that ever trod shoe-leather." 
Aunt Patty has been spending the summer in 'New 
York, but she does n't live there ; not she ! she would 
as soon live on the top of the Rocky Mountains, If 



320 'way down east. 

yon ask her where she does live, she always an 
swers, 

" On Susquehanna's side^ fair Wye ming." 

This, to be sure, is a poetical license and before yon 
get the sober prose answer to yon question, Annt 
Patty will tell yon that she is "£ great hand for 
poetry," though the line above is the only one she has 
ever been known to quote, even by 'he oldest inhabi- 
tant. When yon get at the truth of the matter, von 
find she does live "on Snsquehanr a's side," but a 
good ways from "fair Wyoming," thf t being in Penn- 
sylvania, while her residence, for fift; -eight years, ha? 
been in the old Indian valley of Oqi ago, now Wind- 
sor, in Broome county, 'New York. There, in that 
beautiful bend of the Susquehanna, some miles befu-e 
it receives the waters of the Chenaigo, Aunt Patty 
has been " a fixture" ever since the ^ ^hite inhabitants 
first penetrated that part; of the wil iemess, and sat 
down by the side of the red man. There, when a 
child, she wandered over the meadows and by the 
brook-side to catch trout, and clambe 'edup the moun- 
tains to gather blueberries, and dowi into the valleys 
for wild lillies. 
This valley of Oqnago, before tie revolutionary 



THE pi]mpki:n freshet. 321 

war, was the favorite residence of an Indian tribe, 

and a sort of lialf-way ground, a resting-place for the 

"six nations" at the north, and the tribes of Wyoming 

at the south, in visiting each other. It was to the 

Indians in Oquago valley, that the celebrated Dr 

Edwards, while a minister in Stockbridge, Mass., sent 

the Rev. Mr. Hawley as a missionary ; and also sent 

with him his little son, nine years old, to learn the 

Indian language, with a view of preparing him for an 

Indian missionary. And when the French war broke 

out, a faithful and friendly Indian took charge of the 

lad, and conveyed him home to his father, carrying 

him a good part of the way on his back. But all thia 

happened before Aunt Patty's time, and before any 

white family, except the missionary's, resided within 

a long distance of Oquago. 

About the year of 1T88, some families came in from 

Connecticut, and settled in the valley, and Auni 

Patty's father and mother were among the first, llius 

brought up to experience the hardships and privations 

of a pioneer life in the wilderness, no wonder Auni 

Patty should be much struck on viewing for the firsl 

time the profusion and luxury and mode of life in a 

city. The servant girl was sent out for some bread, 

and in five minutes she ret^irned with a basket of 

14* 



322 'way down east. 

wheat loaves, fresh biscuit and French rolls. Aunt 
Patty rolled up her eyes and lifted up both 
hands. 

''Deal me!" says she, "do you call that bread? 
And where, for massy sake, did it come from so quick 
now? Does bread rain down from heaven here in 
jSTew York, jest as the manna in the Bible did to tne 
children of Israel ?" 

" Oh, no, Aunt Patty, there's a baker only a few 
steps off, just round the next corner, who bakes more 
than a hundred bushels a day ; so that we can always 
have hot bread and hot cakes there, half a dozen 
times a day if we want it." 

" A hundred bushels a day !" screamed Aunt Patty 
at the top of her voice ; " the massy preserve us ! 
Well, if you had only been at Oquago at the time of 
the great punkin freshet, you would think a good deal 
of having bread so handy, I can tell you." 

Aunt Patty's niece took her with her to the Wash- 
ington Market of a Saturday evening, and showed 
her the profusion of fruits and vegetables and meats, 
that covered an area of two or three acres. 

"The Lord be praised !" said Aunt Patty, "why, 
here is victuals enough to feed a whole nation. Who 
would have tha uglit that I should a-lived tlirough the 



THE PUMPKIN FRESHET. 323 

puiikin freshet to come to see such a sight as this 

before I die ?" 

At the tea table, Mrs. Jones, for that was the name 

of Aunt Patty's niece, had many apologies to make 

ab /ut the food ; the bread was too hard and the but- 

tCi' was too salt, and the fruit was too stale, and some- 

tb'jig else was too something or other. At the 

expression of each apology. Aunt Patty looked up 

wi h wonderment ; she knew not how to understand 

M s. Jones ; for, to her view, a most grand and rich 

and dainty feast was spread before her. But when 

M i-s. Jones summed up the whole by declaring to 

^ unt Patty she was afraid she would not be able to 

make out a supper of their poor fare. Aunt Patty laid 

down her knife, and sat back in her chair, and looked 

up at Mrs. Jones with perfect astonishment. 

"Why, Sally Jones!" said she, ''are you making 
fun of me all this time, or what is it you mean !^' 

" N'o, indeed. Aunt Patty, I only meant just what 
I said ; we have rather a poor table to night, and I 
was afraid y^u would hardly make a comfortable tea." 

Aunt Patty looked at Mrs. Jones about a minute 
without saying a word. At last she said, with most 
decided emphasis, ""Well, Sally Jones, I can't tell how 
it is some folks get such strange notions in their heads 



324 'way down eas"'. 

but I can tell yon, if you had seed t hat I seed, and 
gone through what I have gone throi gh, in the pun 
kin freshet, when I was a child, and ; fterwards come 
to set down to sich a table as this, ; ou'd think you 
was in heaven." 

Here Mr. Jones burst out into i broad laugh. 
'^ Well done. Aunt Patty !" said he, ^ aoving back his 
cup and shaking his sides ; " the history of that 
fv/iTupkin freshet we must have ; y )u have excited 
my curiosity about it to the higher z pitch. Let us 
have the whole story now, by way of seasoning foi 
our poor supper. What was the p ampkin freshet ? 
and when was it, and where was it, a ad what did you 
have to do with it ? Let us have the vhole story from 
fii-st to last, will you ?" 

" Well, ]V[r. Jones, you ask me a great question," 
said Aunt Patty, " but if I can't ar 3wer it, I don't 
know who can — for I seed the punku freshet with my 
own eyes, and lived on the punkins that we pulled 
out of the river for two months aftei wards. Let me 
see — it was in tbe year 1T94; tha makes it sixty 
years ago. Bless me, how the tim( > slips away. I 
was only about seven years old then. It was a woodsy 
place, Oquago Yalley was. Tlier(5 was only six 
families in our neighborhood then, though there was 



THE PUMPKIN FKEBHET. 325 

some more settled away further up the river. Major 
StoWj my uncle, was the head man of the neighbor- 
hood. He had the best farm, and was the smartest 
hand to work, and was the stoutest and toughest man 
there was in them parts. Major Buck was the min- 
ister. They always called him Major Buck, because 
he'd been a major in the revolutionary war, and when 
the war was over he took to preaching, and come and 
lived in Oquago. He was a nice man ; everybody 
sot store by Major Buck." 

" Oh, well, I don't care about Major Buck, nor 
Major Stow," said Mr. Jones, " I want to hear about 
the pumpkin freshet. What was it that made the 
pumpkin freshet ?" 

" Why, the rain, I suppose," said Aunt Patty, 
looking up very quietly. 

" The rain ?" said Mr. Jones ; " did it rain pump- 
kins in your younger days, in the Oquago Yalley !" 

" I guess you'd a-thought so," said Aunt Patty " if 
you had seen the punkins come floating down the 
river, and rolling along the shore, and over the 
meadows. It had been a great year for punkins that 
year. All the corn-fields and potato-fields up and 
down the river was spotted all over with 'em, as yallow 
as goold. The corn was jes beginning to turn hard, 



626 'way down east. 

and the potatoes was ripe ei ougli to pull. And tlien, 
one day. it begun to rain, kind of easy at first ; we 
thought it was only going to be a shower ; but it 
did n't hold up all day, and in the night it kept rain 
ing harder and harder, and in the morning it come 
down with a power. Well, it rained steady all that 
day. Nobody went out into the fields to work, but 
all staid in the house and looked out to see if it 
would n't hold up. "When it come night, it was dark 
as Egypt, and the rain still poured down. Father 
took down the Bible and read the account about the 
flood, and then we went to bed. In the morning, a 
little after daylight, TJncte Major Stow come to the 
window and hollowed to us, and says he, turn out all 
hands, or ye'll all be in the river in a heap. 

" I guess we was out of bed about the quickest. 
There was father, and mother, and John, and Jacobj 
and Hannah, and Suzy, and Mike, and me, and Sally, 
and Jim, and Rachel, all running to the door as hard 
as we could pull. We didn't stand much about 
clothes. When father unbarred the door and opened 
it — 'oh,' says Uncle Major, says he, 'you may go 
back and dress yourselves, you'll have time enough 
for that ; but there's no knowing how long you'll be 
safe, for the Susquehanna has got her head up, and is 



THE PUMPKIIS FRESHET. 327 

running like a race-horse. Your hen-house has gone 
now. At that Hannah fetched a scream that you 
might a heard her half a mile, for half the chickens 
was her'n. As soon as we got our clothes on, we all 
run out, and there we see a sight. It still rained a 
little, but not very hard. The river, that used to be 
away down in the holler, ten rods from the house, 
had DOW filled the holler full, and was up within two 
rods of our door. The chicken-house was gone, and 
all the hens and chickens with it, and we never seed 
nor heard nothin' of it afterwards. 

" Wliile we stood there talking and mourning about 
the loss of the chickens, father he looked off upon 
the river, for it begun to be so light that we could see 
across it now, and father spoke, and says he, ' what 
upon airth is all them yallow spots floating along 
down the river?' 

"At that we all turned round and looked, and 
Uncle Major, says he, ' by King George, them's 
punkins ! K the Susquehanna has n't been robbing 
the punkin fields in the upper neighborhood, there's 
no snakes in Oquago.' 

" And sure enough, they was punkins ; and they 
kept coming along thicker and thicker, sprea ling 
away across th/^ river, and up and down as far as we 



328 'way down east. 

could see. And bime-by Mr. Williams, from the 
upper neigliborbood, come riding down a horseback 
as hard as he could ride, to tell us to look out, for the 
river was coming down like a roaring lion, seeking 
whom he may devour. He said it had ran over the 
meadows and the low grounds, and swept off the 
corn-fields, and washed out the potatoes, and was 
carrying off acres and acres of punkins on its back. 
The whole river, he said, was turned into a great 
punkin-field. He advised father to move out what he 
could out of the house, for he thought the water 
would come into it, if it did n't carry the house away. 
So we all went to work as tight as we could spring, 
and Uncle Major he put to and helped us, and we 
carried out what things we could, and carried them 
back a little ways, where the ground was so high we 
thought the river could n't reach 'em. And then we 
went home with Uncle Major Stow, and got some 
breakfast. Uncle Major's house was on higher 
ground, and we felt safe there. 

" After breakfast, father went down to the house 
again^ to see how it looked, and presently he come 
running back, and said the water was up to the door- 
sill. Tlien they began to think the house would go, 
and we all went down as quick as we could, to watch 



THE PUMTKIN FPvESHET. 32^ 

it When we got there, the water was runniug into 
the door, and was all the time rising. ' That house is 
a gone goose,' says Uncle Major, says he, 'it's got to 
take a journey down the river to look after the hens 
and chickens.' 

" At that, mother begun to cry, and took on about 
it as though her heart would break. But father, says 
he, ' la, Patty,' mother's name was Patty, and I 
was named after her ; father, says he, ' la, Patty, it's 
no use crying for spilt milk, so you may as well wipe 
up your tears. The house aint gone yet, and if it 
should go, there's logs enough all handy here, and we 
can build another as good as that in a week.' 

"'Yes,' says Uncle Major, say&he, 'if the house 
goes down stream, we'll all turn to and knock an- 
other one together in short order.' So mother begun 
to be pacified. Father went and got a couple of bed- 
cords and hitched on to one corner of the house, and 
tied it to a stump ; for, he said, if the water come up 
only jest high enough to start the house, maybe the 
cords would keep it from going. The water kept 
a-rising, and in a little more than an hour after we got 
back from uncle's, it was two foot deep on the floor. 

" ' One foot more,' says Uncle Major, says he, ' wil3 
take the house off its legs.' 



330 'way down east. 

" But, as good luck would liave it, one foot more 
didn't come. We watched and watched an hour 
longer, and the water kept rising a little, but not so 
fast as it did, and at last we could n't see as it ris any 
more. And, as It had done raining, after we found 
it didn't rise any for an hour, Uncle Major he pro- 
nounced his opinion that the house would stand it. 
Then did n't we feel glad enough ? Before noon the 
water begun to settle away a little, and before night 
it was clear of the house. But Uncle Major said it 
was so wet, it would never do for us to stay in it that 
night, without we wanted to ketch om' death a-cold. 
So we all went up to his house, and made a great camp 
bed on the floor, and there we all staid till morning. 
That day we got our things back into the house again, 
and the river kept going down a little all day. 

" But oh, such a melancholy sight as it was to see 
the fields, you don't know. All the low grounds had 
been washed over by the river, and everything that 
was growing had been washed away and carried 
down stream, or else covered up with sand and mud. 
Then in a few weeks after that, come on the starving 
time. Most all the crops was cut off by the freshet ; 
and there we was in the wilderness, as it were, forty 
miles from any place where we could get any help, 



II 



THE PUMPKIN FRESHET. 331 

and no road only a blind footpath tlirougli the woods. 
Well, provisions began to grow short. We had a 
good many pnnkins that the boys pnlled out of the 
river as they floated along the bank. And it was 
boiled punkins in the morning, and boiled pnnkins at 
noon, and boiled pnnkins at night. Bnt that was n't 
very solid food, and we hankered for something else. 
We had some meat, thongh not very plenty, and we 
got some roots and berries in the woods. But as for 
bread, we didn't see any from one week's end to 
another. 

" There was bnt very little corn or grain in the 
neighborhood, and what little there was could n't be 
ground, for the hand-mill had been carried away by 
the freshet. At last, when we had toughed it out five 
or six weeks, one day Uncle Major Stow, says he, 
' well, I aint agoing to stand this starving operation 
any longer. I am going to have some bread and 
flour cake, let it cost what 'twill.' 

" We all stared and wondered what he meant. 

" ' I tell ye,' says he, ' I'm a-going to have some 
bread and flour cake before the week's ciut, or else 
there's no snakes in Oquago.' 

" ' Well, I should like to know how you are a-going 
to get H,' says father, says he. 



'way down east. 



" ' I'm a-going to mill,' says Uncle Major, says he. 
^ I've got a half bushel of wheat thrashed out, and if 
any of the neighbors will put in enough to make up 
another half bushel, I'll shoulder it and carry it down 
to Wattle's ferry to mill, and we'll have one feast 
before we starve to death. It's only about forty 
miles, and I can go and get back again in three or four 
days.' 

" They tried to persuade him off the notion of it, 
'twould be such a long tiresome journey ; but he said 
it was no use ; his half bushel of wheat had got to go, 
and he could as well carry a bushel as a half bushel, 
for it would only jest make a clever weight to 
balance him. So Major Buck and three other neigh- 
bors, who had a little wheat, put in half a peck apiece, 
and that made up the bushel. And the next morn- 
ing at daylight, Uncle Major shouldered the bushel of 
wheat, and started for Wattle's ferry, forty miles, to 
mill. 

" Every night and morning while he was gone. 
Major Buck used to mention him in his prayers, and 
pray for his safe return. The fourth day, about noon, 
we see Uncle Major coming out of the woods with a 
bag on his shoulder; and then, if there wasn't a 
jumping and running all over the neighborhood. I 



THE PUMPKIN FKESHET. 333 

won't guess again. Tliej all sot out and rrtii for 
Uncle Major's house, as tight as thej could leg it, 
and the whole neighborhood got there about as soon 
as he did. In come Uncle Major, all of a puff, 
and rolled the bag off his shoulder on to the 
bench. 

" ' There, Molly,' says he ; that was his wife, his 
wife's name was Molly ; ' there, Molly, is as good a 
bushel of flour meal as you ever put your hands into. 
Now go to work and try your skill at a short cake. 
If we don't have a regular feast this afternoon, there's 
no snakes in Oquago. Bake two milk-pans fall, so as 
to have enough for the whole neighborhood.' 

" ' A short cake, Mr. Stow,' says Aunt Molly, says 
she, ' why what are you a thinking about ? Don't 
you know we have n't got a bit of shortnin' in the 
house ; not a mite of butter, nor hog's fat, nor nothin' ? 
How can we make a short cake V 

" ' Well, maybe some of the neighbors has got 
some,' says Uncle Major, says he. 

" * Ko,' says Aunt Molly, * I don't believe there's a 
bit in the neighborhood.' 

"Then they asked Major Buck, and father, and all 
round, and there wasn't one that had a bit of butter 
or hog's fat. 



334 'way d w n east. 

" ' So your short cake is all dough agin,' says Aunt 
Molly, says she. 

"']^o taint, nother,' says Uncle Major, ^I never 
got agin a stump yet, but what I got round it some 
way or other. There's some of that bear's grease left 
yet, and there's no better shortnin' in the world. Do 
let us have the short cake as soon as you can make it. 
Come, boys, stir round and have a good fire ready to 
bake it.' 

" Then Aunt Molly stripped up her sleeves, and 
went at it, and the boys knocked round and made up 
a fire, and there was a brisk business carried on there 
for awhile, I can tell you. While Aunt was going on 
with the short cakes. Uncle Major was uncommon 
lively. He went along and whispered to Major 
Buck, and Major Buck looked up at him with a wild 
kind of a stare, and says he. * you don't say so !' 

"Then Uncle Major whispered to mother, and 
mother says she, ' why. Brother Stow, I don't believe 
you.' 

" ' You may believe it or not,' says Uncle Major, 
says he, ' but 'tis true as Major Buck's preachin'.' 

"Then Uncle Major walked up and down the 
room, whistlin' and snappin' his fingers, and soroe- 
times strikin' up into Yankee Doodle. 



THE PUMPKIN FEESHET. 335 

" Aunt Molly slie dropped her work, and took her 
hands out of the dough, and says she, ^ Mr. Stow, I 
v^onder what's got into you ; it must be something 
more than the short cakes I'm sure, that's put such 
life into you.' 

" ' To be sure 'tis,' says Uncle, ' for the short cakes 
hain't got into me yet.' And then he turned round 
and give a wink to mother and Major Buck. 

" 'Well, there now,' says Aunt Molly, says she, ' I 
know you've got some kind of a secret that you've 
been telling these folks here, and I declare I won't 
touch the short cakes again till I know what 'tis.' 

"When Aunt Molly put her foot down, there 
'twas, and nobody could move her. So Uncle Major 
knew he might as well come to it first as last ; and 
says he, ' well, Molly, it's no use keeping a secret 
from you ; but I've got something will make you 
stare worse than the short cakes.' 

" ' Well, what is it, Mr. Stow V says Aunt Molly, 
' out with it, and let us know the worst of it.' 

" 'Here,' says Uncle Major, says he, pulling out a 
little paper bundle out of his pocket, and holding it 
up to Aunt Molly's face ; ' here, smell of that,' says 
he. 

" As soon as Aunt Molly smelt of itj she jumped 



336 'way down east. 

right up and kissed Uncle Major right before the 
whole company, and says she, ' it's tea ! as true as 
I'm alive, it's the real bohea. I have n't smelt any 
before for three years, but I knew it in a mo- 
ment.' 

" ' Yes,' says Uncle Major, ' it's tea ; there's a 
quarter of a pound of the real stuff. While my grist 
was grinding, I went into the store, and there 1 found 
they had some tea ; and, thinks I, we'll have one dish 
for all hands, to go with the short cakes, if it takes 
the last copper I've got. So I knocked up a bargain 
with the man, and bought a quarter of a pound ; and 
here 'tis. Kow, Molly, set your wits to work, and 
give us a good dish of tea with the short cakes, and 
we'll have a real thanksgiving ; we'll make it seem 
like old Connecticut times again.' 

" ' Well, now, Mr. Stow, what shall we do V says 
Aunt Molly, ' for there isn't a tea-kettle, nor a tea-pot, 
nor no cups and sarcers in the neighborhood.' 

" And that was true enough ; they had n't had any 
tea since they moved from Connecticut, so they 
had n't got any tea-dishes. 

" ^ Well, I don't care,' says Uncle Major, says he, 
* we'll have the tea, any how. There's the dish- 
kettle, you can boil the water in that, and you cau 



1 



THE PUMPKIN FRESHET. 837 

steep the tea in 1 he same, and when it's done I guess 
we'll contrive so ne way or other to drink it.' 

" So Aunt Mo \j dashed round and drove on with 
the work, and gc t the short-cakes made, and the boys 
got the fire made, and they got the cakes down to 
baking, and abon t four quarts of water hung on in the 
dish-kettle to boil for tea, and when it began to boil, 
the whole quarte * of a pound of tea was put into it 
to steep. Bime-])y they had the table set out, and a 
long bench on or e side, and chairs on the other side, 
and there was tw ) milk-pans set on the table filled up 
heaping full of s lort-cakes, and the old folks all sot 
down, and fell to eating, and we children stood behind 
them with our h ^nds full, eating tu. And oh, them 
short-cakes, seens to me, I never shall forget how 
good they tasted :he longest day I live. 

" After they eit sl little while. Uncle Major called 
for the tea ; and vhat do you think they did for tea- 
cups ? Why, th y took a two quart wooden bowl, 
and turned off te i enough to fill it, and sot it on to 
the table. Tliey handed it up to Major Buck first, as 
he was the minis', er, and sot to the head of the table, 
and he took a di ink, and handed it to Uncle Major 
Stow, and he tool : a drink, and then they passed it all 

round the table, IVom one to t'other, and they all tools 

15 



338 'way down east. 

a drink ; and when that was gone, they turned out 
the rest of the tea, and filled the bowl up, and drinked 
round again. Then they poured some more water 
into the dish-kettle, and steeped the tea over again a 
few minutes, and turned out a bowlful, and passed 
it round for us children to taste of. But if it want 
for the name of tea, we had a good deal rather have 
water, for it was such bitter, miserable stufi^, it spoilt 
the taste of the short-cakes. But the old folks said if 
we did n't love it, we need n't drink it ; so they took 
it and drinkt up the rest of it. 

" And there they sot all the afternoto, eating short- 
cakes, and drinking tea, and telling stories, and having 
a merry thanksgiving of it. And that's the way we 
lived at the time of the punkin freshet in the valley 
of Oquago." 



Note — The main incidents in this sketch, in relation to the early 
settlement of Oquago Valley, the '* pumpkin freshet," Major Stow's 
pedestrian journey of forty miles to mill, the bushel of wheat, the 
Bhort-cakes and the tea, are all historically true. 



a. RACsS FOE A SWEETHEART. 839 



CHAPTER XIY. 

A RACE FOR A SWEETHEART. 

Haedly any event creates a stronger sensation in a 
thinly settled 'New England village, especially among 
the young folks, than the arrival of a fresh and bloom- 
ing miss, who comes to make her abode in the neigh- 
borhood. When, therefore, Squire Johnson, the only 
lawyer in the place, and a very respectable man of 
course, told Farmer Jones one afternoon that his 
wife's sister, a smart girl of eighteen, was coming in 
a few days to reside in his family, the news flew like 
wildfire through Pond Yillage, and was the principal 
topic of conversation for a week. Pond Yillage is 
situated upon the margin of one of those numerous 
and beautiful sheets of water that gem the whole sur- 
face of !N'ew England, like the bright stars in an even- 
ing sky, and received its appellation to distinguish 
it from two or three other villages in the same town, 
which could not boast of a similar location. When 
Farmer Jones came in to his supper, about sunset that 



340 'WA.Y DOWN EAST. 

afternoon, and took his seat at tlie table, the eyes of 
the whole family were upon him, for there was a 
peculiar working about his month, and a knowing 
glance of his eye, that always told them when he had 
anything of interest to commnnicate. But Farmer 
Jones' secretiveness was large, and his temperament 
not the most active, and he would probably hav<, 
rolled the important secret as a sweet morsel under his 
tongue for a long time, had not Mrs. Jones, who was 
rather of an impatient and pry^'^g turn of mind, con- 
trived to draw it from him. 

" ]S"ow, Mr. Jones," said she, as she handed him his 
cup of tea, " what is it you are going to say ? Do out 
with it; for you've been chawing sometlr'iig or other 
over in your mind ever since you came into the 
house." 

" It's my tobacher, I s'opose," said Mr. Jones, with 
another knowing glance of his eye. 

" ISTow, father, what is the use ?" said Susan ; " we 
all know you've got something or other you want to 
say, and why can't you tell us what 'tis." 

" La, who cares what 'tis ?" said Mrs. Jones ; " if it 
was anything worth telling, we shouldn't have to wait 
for it, I dare say." 

Hereupon Mrs. Joues assumed an air of the most 



1 



A EACE FOK A SWEETHEART. 34:1 

perfect indifference, as tlie surest way of conquering 
what she was pleased to call Mr. Jones's obstinacy, 
which, by the way, was a very improper term to apply 
in the case ; for it was pm-ely the working of secre- 
tiveness, without the least particle of obstinacy 
attached to it. 

There was a pause of two or three minutes in the 
conversation, till Mr. Jones passed his cup to be filled 
a second time, when, with a couple of preparatory 
hems, he began to let out the secret. 

"We are to have a new neighbor here in a few 
days," said Mr. Jones, stopping short when he had 
uttered thus much, and sipping his tea and filling his 
mouth with food. 

Mrs. Jones, who was perfect in her tactics, said not 
a word, but attended to the affairs of her table, as 
though she had not noticed what was said. The far- 
mer's secretiveness had at last worked itself out, and 
he began again. 

"Squire Johnson's wife's sister is coming here in a 
few days, and is going to live with 'em." 

TliQ news being thus fairly divulged, it left free 
scope for conversation. 

" Well, I wonder if she is a proud, stuck-up piece,'^ 
egiid Mrs. Jones. 



342 'way down east. 

* I should n't think she would be," said Susan, "for 
there aint a more sociabler woman in the neighbor- 
hood than Miss John&on. So if she is at all like her 
sister, I think we shall like her." 

" I wonder how old she is ?" said Stephen, who was 
just verging toward the close of his twenty-first year. 

" The squire called her eighteen," said Mr. Jones, 
giving a wink to his wife, as much as to say, that's 
about the right age for Stephen. 

"I wonder if she is handsome," said Susan, who 
was somewhat vain of her own looks, and having 
been a sort of reigning belle in Pond Yillagt, for 
some time, she felt a little alarm at the idea of a rival. 

" I dare be bound she's handsome," said Mrs. Jones, 
" if she's a sister to Miss Johnson, for where'll you find 
a handsomer woman than Miss Johnson, go the town 
through ?" 

After supper, Stephen went down to Mr. Robinson's 
store, and told the news to young Charles Robinson, 
and all the young fellows, who were gathered there for 
a game at quoits, and a ring at wrestling. And Susan 
went directly over to Mr. Bean's and told Patty, and 
Patty went round to the "Widow Davis' and told Sally, 
and before nine o'clock, the matter was pretty well 
understood in about every house in the village. 



A RACE FOR A SWEETHEART. 343 

At the close of the fourth day, a little before sunset, 
a chaise was seen to drive up to Squire Johnson's 
door. Of course the eyes of the whole village were 
turned in that direction. Sally Davis, who was just 
coming in from milking, set her pail down on the 
grass by the side of the road, as soon as the chaise 
came in sight, and watched it till it reached the squire's 
door, and the gentleman and lady had got out and 
gone into the house. Patty Bean was doing up the 
ironing that afternoon, and she had just taken a hot 
iron, from the fire as the chaise passed the door, and 
she ran with it in her hand, and stood on the door-steps 
till the whole ceremony of alighting, greeting, and 
entering the house was over. Old Mrs. Bean stood 
with her head out of the window, her iron-bowed 
spectacles resting up on the top of her forehead; her 
shriveled hand placed across her eyebrows, to defend 
her red eyes from the rays of the setting sun, and her 
skinny chin protruding about three inches in advance 
of a couple of stubs of teeth, which her open mouth 
exposed fairly to view. 

" It seems to me, they are dreadful loving," said old 
Mrs. Bean, as she saw Mrs. Johnson descend the steps 
and welcome her sister with a kiss. 

*' La me, if there is n't the squire kissing of her tu," 



344 WAT DOWN EASJ. 

said Patty ; " well, I declare, I woi: :d a- waited till 1 
got into the house, I'll die if I would n't. It looks so 
vulgar to be kissing afore folks, and out of doors tu ; 
I should think Squire Johnson woul 1 be ashamed of 
himself." 

" Well, I should n't," said young lohn Bean, who 
came up at the moment, and who had passed the 
chaise just as the young lady alighi ed from it. " I 
should n't be ashamed to kiss sich a ] retty gal as that 
anyhow ; I'd kiss her wherever I co ild catch her, if 
it was in the meetin-house." 

" Why, is she handsome, Jack ?" s. id Patty. 

" Yes, she's got the prettiest little puckery mouth 
I've seen these six months. Her ch( eks are red, and 
her eyes shine Hke new buttons." 

"Well," replied Patty, " if she'll oi ly take the shine 
off Susan Jones when she goes to m 3etin', Sunday, I 
sha'nt care." 

While these observations were goi: ig on at old Mr. 
Bean's, Charles Robinson, and a gro ip of young fel- 
lows with him, where standing in frc at of Pobinson's 
store, a little farther down the road, i nd watching tlie 
scenes that was passing at Squire i ohnson's. Tliey 
witnessed the whole with becoming d icorum, now and 
then making a remark upon tlie fii.e horse and the 



A RACE FOR A SWEETHEART. 345 

handsome chaise, till they saw the tall squire bend his 
head down, and give the young lady a kiss, when they 
all burst out into a loud laugh. In a moment, being 
conscious that their laugh must be heard and noticed 
at the squire's, they, in order to do away the impres- 
sion it must necessarily make, at once turned their 
heads the other way, and, Charles Kobinson who was 
quick at an expedient, knocked off the hat of the lad 
who was standing next to him, and then they all 
laughed louder than before. 

" Here comes Jack Bean," said Charles, " now we 
shall hear something about her, for Jack was coming 
by the squire's wjben she got out of the chaise. How 
does she look. Jack ?" 

" Handsome as a pictur," said Jack. " I haint seen 
a prettier gal since last Thanksgiving Day, when Jane 
Ford was here to visit Susan Jones." 

" Black eyes or blue ?" said Charles. 

"Blue," said Jack, "but all-fired bright." 

" Tall or short ?" said Stephen Jones, who was ra- 
ther short himself, and therefore felt a particular 
interest on that point. 

" Rather short," said Jack, " but straight and round 

as a young colt." 

^ Do you know w^hat her name is ?" said Charles 

15* 



846 'way down' east 

" They called her Lucy when she got out of the 
chaise," said Jack, " and as Miss Johnson's name was 
Brown before she was married, I s'pose her name 
must be Lucy Brown." 

" Just such a name as I like," said Charles Kobin- 
son ; " Lucy Brown sounds well. ISTow suppose in 
order to get acquainted with her, we all hands take a 
sail to-morrow night, about this time, on the pond, 
and invite her to go with us." 

" Agreed," said Stephen Jones. " Agreed," said 
Jack Bean. " Agreed," said all hands. 

The question then arose who should carry the invi- 
tation to her ; and the young men b^ing rather bash- 
ful on that score, it was finally settled that Susan 
Jones should bear the invitation, and accompany her 
to the boat, where they should all be in waiting to re- 
ceive her. Tlie next day was a very long day, at 
least to most of the young men of Pond village ; 
and promptly an hour before sunset, most of them 
were assembled, with a half a score of their sisters 
and female cousins, by a little stone wharf on the 
margin of the pond, for the proposed sail. All the 
girls in the village of a suitable age were there^ 
except Patty Bean. She had undergone a good deal 
of fidget. ng and fussing during the day, to prepare 



A RACE FOR A SAVEET HEART. 347 

ibr the sail, but had been disappointed. Her new 
bonnet was not done ; and as to wearing her old flap- 
sided bonnet, she declared she wonld not, if she never 
went. Presently Susan Jones and Miss Lucy Brown 
were seen coming down the road. 

In a moment, all was quiet, the laugh and joke were 
hushed, and each one put on his best looks. When 
they arrived, Susan went through the ceremony of 
introducing Miss Brown to each of the ladies and 
gentlemen present. 

" But how in the world are you going to sail?" said 
Miss Brown, " for there isn't a breath of wind ; and 1 
don't see anv sail-boat, neither." 

" Oh, the less wind we have, the better, when we 
sail here," said Charles Bobinson, " and there is oui 
sail-boat," pointing to a flat-bottomed scow-boat, some 
twenty feet long by ten wide. 

" We don't use no sails," said Jack Bean ; '' some- 
times, when the wind is fair, we put up a bush to 
help pull along a little, and when 'tis n't, we row." 

The party were soon embarked on board the scow, 
and a couple of oars were set in motion, and they gli- 
ded slowly and pleasantly over as lovely a sheet of 
water as ever glowed in the sunsetting ray. In one 
hour's time, the whole party felt perfectly acquainted 



348 'way down eas^". 

with Miss Lucy Brown. Slie liad talked in the most 
lively and fascinating mannei ; she ha I told stories and 
sung songs. Among others, she ha' I given Moore's 
boat song with the sweetest possibL; effect ; and by 
the time they returned to the landing it would hardly 
be too much to say that half the yc ang men in the 
party were decidedly in love with he '. 

A stern regard to truth requires i remark to be 
made here, not altogether favorable to Susan Jones, 
which is the more to be regretted, sa she was in the 
main an excellent hearted girl, and lighly esteemed 
by the whole village. It was obseived that as the 
company grew more and more phased with Miss 
Lucy Brown, Susan Jones was less ar d less animated, 
till at last she became quite reserved and apparently 
sad. She, however, on landing, trea ed Miss Brown 
with respectful attention, accompaniad her homo to 
Squire Johnson's door, and cordially bade her good 
night. 

The casual glimpses which the yoi ng men of Bona 
village had of Miss Brown during the remainder of the 
week, as she occasionally stood at thf door, or looked 
out at the window, or once or twice ^ ^hen she walked 
out with Susan Jones, and the fair v 3W they all had 
of her at meeting on the Sabbath served but to 



A RACE FOE A SWEETHEART. 349 

increase their admiration, and to render her more and 
more an object of attraction. She was regarded by 
ftll as a prize, and several of them were already plan- 
ning what steps it was best to take in order to win 
her. The two most prominent candidates, however, 
for Miss Brown's favor, were Charles Kobinson and 
Stephen Jones. Their position and standing among 
the yonng men of the village seemed to pnt all others 
in the back-ground. Charles, whose father was 
wealthy, had every advantage which money could 
procure. But Stephen, though poor, had decidedly 
the advantage of Charles m personal recommenda- 
tions. He had more talent, was more sprightly and 
intelligent, and more pleasing in his address. From 
the evening of the sail on the pond, they had both 
watched every movement of Miss Brown with the 
most intense interest ; and, as nothing can deceive a 
lover, each had, with an interest no less intense, 
watched every movement of the other. Tliey had 
ceased to speak to each other about her, and if her 
name was mentioned in their presence, both were 
always observed to color. 

The second week after her arrival, through the 
influence of Squire Johnson, the district school was 
offered to Miss Brown on the other side of the pond^ 



'way down east. 350 

which offer was accepted, and she went immediately 
to take charge of it. This announcement at first threw 
something of a damper upon the spirits of the young 
people of Pond village. But when it was understood 
that the school w^ould continue but a few weeks, and 
being but a mile and a half distant, Miss Brown would 
come home every Saturday afternoon, and spend the 
Sabbath, it was not very difficult to be reconciled to 
the temporary arrangement. The week wore away 
heavily, especially to Charles Kobinson and Stephen 
Jones. They counted the days impatiently till Satur- 
day, and on Saturday they counted the long and lag- 
ging hours till noon. They had both made up their 
minds that it would be dangerous to wait longer, and 
they had both resolved not to let another Sabbath pass 
without making direct proposals to Miss Brown. 

Stephen Jones was too early a riser for Charles 
Kobinson, and, in any enterprize where both were 
concerned, was pretty sure to take the lead, except 
w^liere money could carry the palm, and then, of 
coarse, it was always borne away by Charles. As 
Miss I-iicy had been absent most of the week, and was 
to be at home that afternoon, Charles Robinson had 
madr an arrangement with his mother and sister to 
have I little tea party in the evening, for the purpose 



A RACK FOK A SWEETHEART. 351 

of inviting Miss Brown ; and then, of course, he 
should walk home with her in the evening ; and then, 
of course, would be a good opportunity to break the 
ice, and make known to her his feelings and his wishes. 
Stephen Jones, however, was more prompt in his 
movements. He had got wind of the proposed tea 
party, although himself and sister, for obvious reasons, 
had not been invited, and he resolved not to risk the 
arrival of Miss Brown and her visit to Mr. Robinson's 
before he should see her. She would dismiss her 
school at noon, and come the distance of a mile and 
a half round the pond home. His mind was at once 
made up. He would go round and meet her at the 
school-house, and accompany her on her walk. There, 
in that winding road, around those delightful waters, 
with the tall and shady trees over-head, and the wild 
grape-vines twining round their trunks, and climbing 
to the branches, while the wild birds were singing 
through the woods, and the wild ducks playing in the 
coves along the shore, surely there, if anywhere in 
the world, could a man bring his mind up to the point 
of speaking of love. 

Accordingly, a little before noon, Stephen washed 
and brushed himself up, and put on his Sunday 
c^thes, and started on his expedition. In order to 



352 'way down east. 

avoid observation, lie took a back route across the 
field, intending to come into the road by the pond, a 
little ont of the village. As ill-lnck would have it, 
Charles Robinson had been out in the same direction, 
and was returning with an armful of green boughs 
and wild flowers, to ornament the parlor for the even- 
ing. He saw Stephen, and noticed his di-ess, and the 
direction he was going, and he at once smoked the 
whole business. His first impulse was to rush upon 
him and collar him, and demand thai lie should 
return back. But then he recollected that in the last 
scratch he had with Stephen, two or three years 
before, he had a little the worst of it, and he instinct- 
ively stood still, while Stephen passed on without 
seeing him. It flashed upon his mind at once that 
the question must now be reduced to a game of speed. 
If he could by any means gain the school-house first, 
and engage Miss Lucy to walk home with him, ho 
should consider himself safe. But if Stephen should 
reach the school-house first, he should feel a good deal 
of uneasiness for the consequences. Stephen was 
walking, very leisurely, and unconscious that he was 
m any danger of a competitor on the course, and it 
was important that his suspicions should not bw 
awakened. Charles therefore remained perfectly 



A RACE FOK A SWEEniEART. 353 

quiet till Stephen had got a little out of hearing, and 
then threw down his bushes and flowers, and ran to 
the wharf below the store with his utmost speed. He 
had one advantage over Stephen. He was ready at a 
tnoment's warning to start on an expedition of this 
kind, for Sunday clothes was an every day affair with 
him. 

There was a light canoe belonging to his father 
lying at the wharf, and a couple of stout boys were 
there fishing. Charles hailed them, and told them if 
they would row him across the pond as quick as they 
possibly could, he would give them a quarter of a 
dollar a-piece. This, in their view, was a splendid 
offer for their services, and they jumped on board 
with alacrity and manned the oars. Charles took a 
paddle and stood in the stern to steer the boat, and 
help propel her ahead. The distance by water was a 
little less than by land, and although Stephen had 
considerably the start of him, he believed he should 
be able to reach the school-house first, especially if 
Stephen should not see him and quicken his pace. In 
one minute after he arrived at the wharf, the boat 
was under full way. The beys laid down to the oars 
with right good will, and Charles put out all his 
strength upon the paddle. They were shooting over 



354 'way down east. 

the water twice as fast as a man could walk, and 
Charles already felt sure of the victory. But when 
they had gone about half a mile, they came in the 
range of a little opening in the trees on the shore, 
where the road was exposed to view, and there, at 
that critical moment, was Stephen pursuing his easy 
wa^k. Charles's heart was in his mouth. Still it was 
possible Stephen might not see them, for he had not 
yet looked around. Lest the sound of the oara might 
attract his attention, Charles had instantly, on coming 
in sight, ordered the boys to stop rowing, and he 
grasped his paddle with breathless anxiety, and 
waited for Stephen again to disappear. But just as 
he was upon the point of passing behind some trees, 
where the boat would be out of his sight, Stephen 
turned his head and looked round. He stopped 
short, turned square round, and stood for the space of 
a minute looking steadily at the boat. Tlien lifting 
his hand, and shaking his fist resolutely at Charles, as 
much as to say, I understand you, he started into a 
quick run. 

" ]^ow, boys," said Charles, " buckle to your oars 
for your lives, and if you get to the shore so I can 
reach the school-house before Stephen does, I'll give 
you a half a dollar a-piece." 



A EACE FOE A SWEETHEAET. 355 

This, of course, added new life to the boys, and 
increased speed to the boat. Their little canoe flew 
over the water almost like a bird, carrying a white bone 
in her mouth, and leaving a long ripple on the glassy 
wave behind her. Charles' hands trembled, but still 
he did good execution with his paddle. Although Ste- 
phen upon the run was a very different thing from 
Stephen at a slow walk, Charles still had strong hopes 
of winning the race, and gaining his point. He 
several times caught glimpses of Stephen through the 
trees, and, as well as he could judge, the boat had 
a little the best of it. But when they came out into 
the last opening, where for a little way they had a 
fair view of each other — Charles thought Stephen ran 
faster than ever ; and although he was now consider- 
ably nearer the school-house than Stephen was, he 
still trembled for the result. They were now within 
fifty rods of the shore, and Charles appealed again to 
the boys' love of money. 

" !Now," said he, " we have not a minute to spare. 
If we gain the point, I'll give you a dollar a-piece." 

The boys strained every nerve, and Charles' paddle 
made the water fly like the tail of a wounded shark. 
When within half a dozen rodspf the shore, Charles 
urged them again to spring with all their might, and 



356 'way down east. 

one of the boys making a desperate plunge upon his 
oar, snapped it in two. The first pull of the other 
oar headed the boat from land. Charles saw at once 
that the delay must be fatal, if he depended on the 
boat to carry him ashore. The water was but two 
feet deep, and the bottom was sandy. He sprang 
from the boat, and rushed toward the shore as fast as 
he was able to press through the water. He flew up 
the bank, and along the road, till he reached the 
school-house. The door was open, but he could see 
no one within. Several children were at play round 
the door, who, having seen Charles approach with 
such haste, stood with mouths and eyes wide open, 
staring at him. 

" Where's the schoolma'am ?" said Charles, hastily, 
to one of the largest boys. 

" Why," said the boy, opening his eyes still wider, 
" is any of the folks dead ?" 

" You little rascal, I say, where's the school ma'am ?" 

" She just went down that road," said the boy, 
"two or three minutes ago." 

" Was she alone ?" said Charles. 

" She started alone," said the boy, " and a man 
met her out there a little ways, and turned about and 
went with her ' 



A RACE FOa ^ SWEETHEART. 35? 

Charles felt that his cake was all dough again, and 
that he might as well give it up for a bad job, and go 
home. Stephen Jones and Lucy Brown walked very 
leisurely home through the woods, and Charles and 
the boys went very leisurely in the boat across the 
pond. They even stopped by the way, and caught a 
mess of fish, since the boys had thrown their lines 
into the boat when they started. And when they 
reached the wharf, Charles, in order to show that he 
had been a fishing, took a large string of the fish in 
his hand, and carried them up to the house. Miss 
Lucy Brown, on her way home through the woods, 
had undoubtedly been informed of the proposed tea- 
party for the evening, to which she was to be invited, 
and to which Stephen Jones and Susan Jones were 
not invited ; and when Miss Lucy's invitation came, 
fihe sent word back that she was engaged. 



358 'way down EAaT. 



CHAPTEE XY. 



OLD MYERS. 



In a country like ours, of boundless fc rests, rapidly 
filling up with a growing and widely spreading popu- 
lation, the pioneers of the wilderness, those hardy 
and daring spirits who take their lives in their hands, 
and march, in advance of civilization, into the wild 
woods, to endure privations among the wild animals, 
and run the hazard of wild warfare among the savage 
tribes, form a very peculiar and interesting class. 
Whether it is a natural hardihood and boldness, and 
love of adventure, or a desire for retirement, or a 
wish to be free from the restraints of civilized society, 
that thus leads this peculiar class of people into the 
wilderness, it matters not now to inquire. Probably 
all these motives, in a greater or less degree, go to 
make up the moving principle. 

At the head of this class is the renowned Daniel 
Boone, whose name Tfill live as long as his Old Ken- 
tucky shall find a place on the page of history. He 



OLD MYERS. 359 

was the great Kapoleon among the pioneers of the 
wilderness. But there are many others of less note, 
whose lives were also filled with remarkable adven- 
tures, and curious and interesting incidents. Indeed, 
every State in the Union has had more or less of these 
characters, which go to make up the class. One of 
these was Old Myers, the Panther ; a man of iron 
constitution, of great power of bone and muscle, and 
an indomitable courage that knew no mixture of fear. 
Four times, in four different States, had Myers 
pitched his lonely tent in the wilderness, among 
savage tribes, and waited for the tide of white popula- 
tion to overtake him ; and four times he had " pulled 
up stakes " and marched still deeper into the forest, 
where he might enjoy more elbow-room, and exclaim 
with Selkirk, 

"I am monarch of all I survey — 
My right there is none to dispute." 

And now, at the time of which we speak, he had a 
fifth time pitched his tent and struck his fire on the 
banks of the Illinois river, in the territory which 
afterwards grew up to a State of the same name. 
Having lived so much in the wilderness, and associ- 
ated so much with the aborigines, he had acquired 
much of their habits and mode of life, and by hi^ 



360 WAY DOWN EAST. 

location on tlie Illinois river, he soon became ratlier a 
favorite among the Indian tribes around him. His 
skill with the rifle and the bow, and his personal 
feats of strength and agility, were well calculated to 
excite their admiration and applause. He often took 
the lead among them in their games of sport. It was 
on one of these occasions that he acquired the 
additional name of the Panther. 

A party of eight or ten Indians, accompanied by 
Myers, had been out two or three days on a hunting 
excursion, and were returning, laden with the spoils 
of the chase, consisting of various kinds of wild fowl, 
squirrels, racoons and buffalo-skins. They had used 
all their ammunition except a single charge, which 
was reserved In the rifle of the chief for any emer- 
gency, or choice game which might present itself on 
the way home. A river lay in the way, which could 
be crossed only at one point, without subjecting them 
to an extra journey of some ten miles round. "When 
they arrived at this point, they suddenly came upon 
a huge panther, which had taken possession of the 
pass, and, like a skilful general, confident of his 
strong position, seemed determined to hold it. Tlio 
party retreated a little, and stood at bay for a while, 
and consulted what should be done. 



OLD MTEKS. 361 

Various methods were attempted to decoy or 
frighten the creitm^e from his position, bnt without 
success. He growled defiance whenever they came 
in sight, as mucl: as to say, ^' If you want this strong- 
hold come and t^^ke it !" The animal appeared to be 
very powerful und fierce. The trembling Indians 
hardly dared to come in sight of him, and all the 
reconnoitering "lad to be done by Myers. The 
majority were ir favor of retreating as fast as possi- 
ble, and taking the long journey of ten miles round 
for home ; but Is [yers resolutely resisted. He urged, 
the chief, whose dfle was loaded, to march up to the 
panther, take g( od aim and shoot him down ; pro- 
mising that the lest of the party would back him up 
closely with thei • knives and tomahawks, in case of a 
miss-fire. But t le chief refused ; he knew too well 
the nature and f ower of the animal. The creatm'e, 
he contended, w.'is exceedingly hard to kill, l^ot one 
3hot in twenty, however well aimed, would dispatch 
him ; and if one shot failed, it was a sure death to 
the shooter, for the infuriated animal would spring 
'ipon him in an instant, and tear him to pieces. For 
nmilar reasons ererj Indian in the party declined to 
hazard a battle v ith the enemy in any shape. 

At last Myers, in a burst of anger and impatience, 

16 



'way down east. 



called them all a set of cowards, and snatcliing the 
loaded rifle from the hands of the chief, to the amaze- 
ment of the whole party, marched deliberately towards 
the panther. The Indians kept at a cantioiis distance, 
to watch the result of the fearful battle. Myers 
walked steadily up to within about two rods of the 
panther, keeping his eyes fixed upon him, while the 
eyes of the panther flashed fire, and his heavy growl 
betokened at once the power and firmness of the, 
animal. At about two rods distance, Myers levelled 
his rifle, took deliberate aim, and fired. The shot 
mflicted a heavy wound, but not a fatal one ; and 
the furious animal, maddened with the pain, made 
but two leaps before he reached his assailant. Myers 
met him with the butt end of his rifle, and staggered 
him a little with two or three heavy blows, but the, 
rifle broke, and the animal grappled him, apparently 
with his full power. The Indians at once gave Myers 
up for dead, and only thought of making a timel}- 
retreat for themselves. 

Fearful was the struggle between Myers and the 
panther, but the animal had the best of it at first, for 
they soon came to the ground, and Myers underneath^ 
suffering under the joint operation of sharp • 'iws and 
teeth, applied by the most powerful muscles In fall- 



OLD MYEES. 6b6 

ing, however, Myers, whose right hand was at liberty, 
had drawn a long knife. As soon as they came to the 
ground, his right arm being free, he made a desperate 
plunge at the vitals of the animal, and, as his good 
luck would have it, reached his heart. The loud 
shrieks of the panther showed that it was a death- 
wound. He quivered convulsively, shook his victim 
with a spasmodic leap and plunge, then loosened his 
hold, and fell powerless by his side. Myers, whose 
wounds were severe but not mortal, rose to his feet, 
bleeding, and much exhausted, but with life and 
strength to give a grand whoop, which conveyed the 
news of his victory to his trembling Indian friends. 

Tliej now came up to him with shouting and joj, 
and so full of admiration that they were almost ready 
to worship him. Tliey dressed and bound up hia 
wounds, and were now ready to pursue their journey 
home without the least impediment. Before crossing 
the river, however, Myers cut off the head of the 
panther, which he took home with him, and fastened 
it up by the side of his cabin-door, where it remained 
for years, a memorial of a deed that excited the admi 
ration of the Indians in all that region. From that 
time forth they gave Myers that name, and always 
called him the Panther 



36^ 'way down E\8T. 

Time rolled on, and the Panther cdtinued to 
occupy his hut in the wilderness, on the banks of the 
Illinois river, a general favorite among the savages, 
and exercising great influence over them. At last the 
tide of white population again overtook him, and he 
found himself once more surrounded by white neigh- 
bors. Still, however, he seemed loth to forsake the 
noble Illinois, on whose banks he had been so long a 
fixture, and he held on, forming a sort of connecting 
link between the white settlers and the Indians. 

At length hostilities broke out, which resulted in 
the memorable Black Hawk War, that spread desola- 
tion through that part of the country. Parties of 
Indians committed the most wanton and cruel depre- 
dations, often murdering old friends and companions, 
with whom they had held long conversation. The 
white settlers, for some distance round, flocked to the 
cabin of the Panther for protection. His cabin was 
transformed into a sort of garrison, and was filled by 
more than a hundred men, women, and children, who 
rested almost their only hope of safety on the prowess 
of the Panther, and his influence over the savages. 

At this time a party of about nine hundred of the 
Iroquois tribe were on the banks of the Illinois, about 
a mile from the garrison of Myers, and nearly oppo* 



OLD MYERS. 365 

site the present town 3f .La Salle. One day news 
was brought to the camp of Myers, that his brothei^ 
in-law and wife, and their three children, had beer 
cruelly murdered by some of the Indians. The Pan 
ther heard the sad news in silence. The eyes of the 
people were upon him, to see what he would do 
Presently they beheld him with a deliberate and 
determined air, putting himself in battle array. He 
girded on his tomahawk and scalping-knife, and 
shouldered his loaded rifle, and, at open mid-day, 
silently and alone, bent his steps towards the Indian 
encampment. With a fearless and firm tread, he 
marched directly into the midst of the assembly, 
elevated his rifle at the head of the principal chief 
present, and shot him dead on the spot. He then 
deliberately severed the head from the trunk, and 
holding it up by the hair before the awe-struck multi- 
tude, he exclaimed, " You have murdered my brother- 
in-law, his wife and their little ones ; and now I have 
murdered your chief. I am now even with you. 
But now mind, every one of you that is found 
here to-morrow morning at sum-ise, is a dead In- 
dian!" 

All this was accomplished without the least molesta- 
tion from the Indians. Tliese people are accustomed 



S66 'way down east. 

to regard any remarkable deed of daring as the 
result of some supernatural agency ; and doubtless so 
considered the present incident. Believing theu' 
chief had fallen a victim to some unseen power, they 
were stupitied with terror, and looked on without 
even a tbougbt of resistance. Myers bore off the 
head in triumph to his cabin, where he was welcomed 
by his anxious friends, almost as one returning from 
the dead. The next morning not an Indian was to be 
found anywhere in the vicinity. Their camps were 
deserted, and they left forever their ancient haunts 
and their dead, and that part of the State was not 
molested by them afterwards. 

The last account we have of Old Myers, the Pan- 
ther, was in 1838. The old man was eighty years of 
age, but his form was still erect, and his steps were 
firm; his eyes were not dim, nor his natural force 
abated. Up to that time he had remained on the 
banks of his favorite Illinois. But now the old 
veteran pioneer grew discontented. The State was 
rapidly filling up with inhabitants, and the forms and 
restraints of civilization pressed upon him. The 
wildness and freshness of the country were destroyed. 
He looked abroai from his old favorite hills, and he 
saw that ii. every direction the march of civilization 



OLD MYERS. 367 

hdd broken in upon the repose of the old forest, and 
his heart again yearned 

" For a lodge in some vast wilderness, 
Some boundless contiguity of shade, 
"Where rumor of oppression and deceit, 
Of unsuccessful or successful war, 
Might never reach him more." 

The old man talked about selling out and once 
more " pulling up stakes " to be off. 

" What?" said a neighbor, " you are not going to 
leave us, Father Myers, and take yourself to the 
woods again in your old age ?" 

" Yes," said Myers, " I can't stand this eternal 
bustle of the world around me. I must be off in the 
woods, where it is quiet, and as soon as I can sell out 
my improvements, I shall make tracks." 

The venerable " squatter " had no fee in the land 
he occupied, but the improvements on it were his 
:)wn, and it was not long before a gentleman appeared 
(vho offered a fair equivalent for these, with a right 
10 purchase the soil. The bargain was completed, 
and the money counted out, and the Panther began 
to prepare for his departure. 

" Where are you going. Father Myers ?" said the 
neighbor. 



368 'way down east. 

" Well, I reckon," said the old Par ther, " I shall go 
away off somewhere tc the further tide of Missouri; 
I understand the people haint got there yet, and 
there's plenty of woods there." 

He proceeded to array himself br his journey. 
He put on the same hunting-shirt which he wore 
when he killed the Indian chief. H(3 loaded his rifle 
and girded on his tomahawk and seal ping-knife ; and, 
having filled his knapsack with sue h articles as he 
chose to carry with him, he buckled ic upon his shoul- 
ders, and giving a farewell glance lound the cabin, 
he sallied forth and took the wester i road for Mis- 
souri. "WTien he had reached a little eminence some 
rods distant, he was observed to hesitate, and stop, 
and look back. Presently he return 3d slowly to the 
cabin. 

" Have you forgot anything, Father Myers ?" said 
the occupant. 

" I believe," said the old man, " ] must take the 
Lead of the panther along with me, if you have no 
objections." 

. " Certainly," said the gentleman " any personal 
matters you have a perfect right to." 

The old man took down the dried-up remains ot 
the panther's head from the wall, where it had hung 



OLD MYERS. 369 

for many years, and fastened it to his knapsack 
Then taking one last lingering look of the premises," 
he turned to the occupant, and asked if he was 
willing he should give his " grand yell " before he 
started on his journey. 

" Certainly, Father Myers," said the gentleman ; 
" 1 wish you to exercise the utmost freedom in all 
personal matters before you leaye." 

At this the old Panther gave a long, and loud, 
shrill whoop, that rang through the welkin, and was 
echoed by forest and hills for miles around. 

" There," said the old man, " now my blessing is 
on the land and on you. Your ground will always 
yield an abundance, and you will always prosper." 

Then Old Myers, the Panther, tm'ned his face to 
the westward, and took up his solitary march for tho 
distant wilderness. 



37C 'way down east 



CHAPTER XYI. 



SETH WOODSTJM's WIFE. 



As Mr. Seth Woodsum was mowing one morning 
in his lower haying field, and his eldest son, Obediah, 
a smart boj of thirteen, was opening the mown grass 
to the sun, Mr. Woodsum looked up towards his 
house, and beheld his little daughter Harriet, ten 
years of age, running towards hini with her utmost 
speed. As she came up, he perceived she was greatly 
agitated ; tears were running down her cheeks, anc 
she had scarcely breath enough to speak. 

" O, father," she faintly articulated, " mother is 
dreadful sick ; she's on the bed, and says she shall die 
before you get there." 

Mr. Woodsum was a man of a sober, sound mind, 
and calm nerves ; but he had, what sometimes hap- 
pens in this cold and loveless world of ours, a tender 
attachment for his wife, which made the message of 
the little girl fall upon his heart like a dagger. He 
dropped his scythe, and ran with great haste to the 



SETH WOODSUM's WIE'E. 371 

house Obediali, who was at the other end of the 
field, seeing this unusual movement of his father, 
dropped his fork, and ran with all his might, and the 
two entered the house almost at the same time. 

Ml. Woodsum hastened to the bedside, and took 
his wife's hand. " Mj dear Sally," said he, " what is 
the matter?" 

"What is the matter?" echoed Mrs. "Woodsum, 
with a plaintive groan. " I should n't think you 
would need to ask what is the matter, Mr. Woodsum. 
Don't you see I am dying ?" 

" Why, no, Sally, you don't look as if you was 
dying. What is the matter ? how do you feel ?" 

" Oh, I shan't live till night," said Mrs. Woodsum 
srith a heavy sigh ; " I am going fast." 

Mr. Woodsum, without waiting to make further 
inquiries, told Obediah to run and jump on to the 
horse, and ride over after Doctor Fairfield, and get 
him to come over as quick as he can come. " Tell 
lim I am afraid your mother is dying. If the doctor's 
iiorse is away off in the pasture, ask him to take our 
horse and come right away over, while you go and 
catch his." 

Obediah, with teai-s in his eyes, and his heart in his 
mouth, flew as though he had wings added to his ftet, 



372 WAY DOWN EAST. 

and in three minutes' time was mounted upon Old 
Grey, and galloping with full speed towards Doctor 
Fairfield's. 

^'My dear," said Mr. "Woodsum, leaning his head 
upon the pillow, " how do you feel ? ^^hat makes you 
think you are dying?" And he tec derly kissed her 
foiehead as he spoke, and pressed her hand to his 
bosom. 

" Oh, Samuel," for she generally ciUed him by his 
Christian name, when under the infiuence of tender 
emotions ; " Oh, Samuel, I feel dreadfully. I ha^e 
pains darting through my head, ani most all over 
me ; and I feel dizzy, and can't hare ly see ; and my 
heart beats as though it would come hrough my side. 
And besides, I feel as though I was c ying. I'm sure 
I can't live till night ; and what wil become of my 
poor children?" And she sobbed heavily and bui*st 
into a flood of tears. 

Mr. Woodsum was affected. He could not bring 
himself to believe that his wife was in such immediate 
danger of dissolution as she seemed to apprehend. 
He thought she had no appearance of a dying person ; 
but still her earnest and positive c eclarations, that 
she should not live through the diy, sent a thrill 
through his veir.a and a sinking to lis heart that no 



SETH WOODSUM's WIFE. 373 

language has power to describe. Mr. Woodsiim was 
as ignorant of medicine as a child ; he therefore did 
not attempt to do anything to relieve his wife, except 
to try to soothe her feelings by kind and encouraging 
words, till the doctor arrived. The half honr which 
elapsed, from the time Obediah left till the doctor 
came, seemed to Mr. "Woodsum almost an age. He 
repeatedly went from the bedside to the door, to look 
and see if the doctor was anywhere near, and as 
often returned to hear his wife groan, and say she was 
sinking fast, and could not stand it many minutes 
longer. 

At length Doctor Fairfield rode up to the door, on 
Mr. Woodsum's Old Grey, and with saddle-bags in 
hand, hastened into the house. A brief examination 
of the patient convinced him that it was a decided 
case of hypochondria, and he soon spoke encouraging 
words to her, and told her although she was consider- 
ably unwell, he did not doubt she would be' better in 
a little while. 

"Oh, Doctor, how can you say so?" said Mrs. 
Woodsum ; " don't you see I am dying ? I can't 
possibly live till night ; I am sinking very fast. Doctor, 
and I shall never see the sun rise again. My heart 
eometimes almost stops its beating ^.ow, and my feet 



374 'way down east. 

and hands are growing cold. But I rmist see my 
dear children once more ; do let 'em come in and bid 
me farewell." Here she was so overwhelmed with 
sobs and tears as to prevent her saying more. 

The doctor, perceiving it was in vain to talk or try 
to reason with her, assured her that as long as there 
was life there was hope, and told her he would give 
her some medicine that he did not doubt would help 
her. He accordingly administered the drugs usually 
approved by the faculty in such cases, and telling her 
that he would call and see her again in a day or two, 
he left the room. As he went out, Mr. Woodsum 
followed him, and desired to know, in private, his real 
opinion of the case. The doctor assured him he did 
not consider it at all alarming. It was only an 
ordinary case of hypochondria, and with proper treat- 
ment the patient would imdoubtedly get better. 

" It is a case," continued the doctor, "■ in which the 
mind needs to be administered to as much as the 
body. Divert her attention as much as possible by 
eheeiful objects ; let her be surrounded by agree- 
able company; give her a light, but generous and 
nutritive diet ; and as soon as may be, get her to take 
ijentle exercise in the open air, by riding on horse- 
back, or running about the fields and gathering fruita 



SETH WOODSUMS WIFE. 37S 

and flowers in company witli lively and congenial 
companions. Follow these directions, and continue 
to administer the medicines I have ordered, and I 
think Mrs. Woodsnm will soon enjoy good health 
again." 

Mr. Woodsnm fe t much relieved after hearing the 
doctor's opinion and prescriptions, and bade the kind 
physician good morning with a tolerably cheerful 
countenance. Most assiduously did he follow the 
doctor's directions, and in a few days he had the hap- 
piness to see his beloved wife again enjoying tolerable 
health, and pursuing her domestic duties with cheer- 
fulness. 

But alas ! his sunshine of hope v^a.8 destined soon 
to be obscured again by the clouds of sorrow and 
disappointment. It was not long before some change 
in the weather, and changes in her habits of living, 
and neglect of proper exercise in the open air, brought 
on a return of Mrs. "Woodsum's gloom and despon- 
dency, in all their terrific power. Again she was 
sighing and weeping on the bed, and again ^JMr^^u 
Woodsum was hastily summoned from the fielchd kind 
leaving his plough in mid-furrow, ran with br<i mother, 
anxiety to the house, where the same scercould not 
again witnessed which we have already < feel, dear 



376 'way DOWN EA8T. 

ISTot only once or twice, but repeatedly week after 
week and month after month, these exhibitions were 
given, and followed by similar results. Each relapse 
seemed to be more severe than the previous one, and 
on each occasion Mrs. Wqpdsum was more positive 
than ever that she was on her death-bed, and that 
there was no longer any help for her. 

On one of these occasions, so strong was her 
impression that her dissolution was near, and so 
anxious did she appear to make every preparation for 
death, and with such solemn earnestness did she attend 
to certain details, preparatory to leaving her family for 
ever, that Mr. Woodsum almost lost the hope that 
usually attended him through these scenes, and felt, 
more than ever before, that what he had so often 
feared, was indeed about to become a painful and 
awful reality. Most tenderly did Mrs. TVoodsum 
touch upon the subject of her separation from hei 
husband and children. 

" Our poor children — what will become of them 
eir^jcrx.n 1 am gone ? And you, dear Samuel, how can 
able coj.r the thought of leaving you? I could feel 
nutritive iled to dying, if it was not for the thoughts of 
gentle ext you and the children. They will have 
back, or ruo take care of them, as a mother would, poor 



SETH WOODSUM S WIFE. 377 

things ; and then you will be so lonesome — it breaka 
my heart to think of it." 

Here, her feelings overpowered her, and she was 
unable to proceed any further. Mr. Woodsum was 
for some time too much affected to make any reply. 
At last^ summoning all his fortitude, and as much 
calmness as he could, he told her if it was the will 
of Providence that she should be separated from 
them, he hoped her last hours would not be pained 
with anxious solicitude about the future welfare of 
the family. It was true, the world would be a di-eary 
place to him when she was gone ; but he should keep 
the children with him, and with the blessing of 
heaven, he thought he should be able to make them 
comfortable and happy. 

" Well, there's one thing, dear Samuel," said Mrs. 
Woodsum, "that I feel it my duty to speak to you 
about." And she pressed his hand in hers, and 
looked most solemnly and earnestly in his face. 
" You know, my dear," she continued, " how sad ana 
desolate a family of children always is, when deprived 
of a mother. They may have a kind father, and kind 
friends, but nobody can supply the place of a mother. 
I feel as if it would be your duty — ^and I could not 
die in peace, if T did n't speak of it — ^I feel, dear 



S78 WAV DOWN EAST. 

Samuel, as if it would be your duty as soon after 1 
am gone as would appear decent, to marry some gooa 
and kind woman, and bring ber into tbe family to be 
the mother of our poor children, and to make your 
home happy. Promise me that you will do this, and 
I think it will relieve me of some of the distress I 
feel at the thought of dying." 

Tliis remark was, to Mr. Woodsum, most unex- 
pected and most painful. It threw an anguish into 
his heart, such as he had never experienced till that 
moment. It forced upon his contemplation a thought- 
that had never before occurred to him. Tlie idea of 
being bereaved of the wife of his bosom, whom he 
had loved and cherished for fifteen years with the 
ardent attachment of a fond husband, had over- 
whelmed him with all the bitterness of woe ; but the 
thought of transferring that attachment to another 
object, brought with it a double desolation. His asso- 
ciations before had all clothed his love for his wife 
with a feeling of immortality. She might be removed 
from him to another world, but he had not felt as 
though that would dissolve the holy bond that united 
them. His love would soon follow her to those eternal 
realms of bliss, and rest upon her like a mantle for 
ever. But this new and startling idea of love foi 



SETH WOO]:)SUm'3 WIFE. 379 

rtnothePj came to him, as comes to tlic wicked tlie idea 
of anniliilation of the soul — an idea, compared with 
which no degree of misery imaginable is half so 
terrible. A cloud of intense darkness seemed for a 
moment to overshadow him, his heart sank within 
him, and his whole frame trembled with agitation. It 
was some minutes before he could find power to speak. 
And when he did, it was only to beseech his wife, in 
a solemn tone, not to allude to so distressing a subject 
again, a subject which he could not think of nor speak 
of, without suffering more than a thousand deaths. 

The strong mental anguish of Mr. "Woodsum 
seemed to have the effect to divert his wife's atten- 
tion from her own sufferings, and by turning her 
emotions into a new channel, gave her system an 
opportunity to rally. She gradually grew better, as 
she had done in like cases before, and even before 
night was able to sit up, and became quite cheerful. 

But her malady was only suspended, not cured; 
and again and again it returned upon her, and again 
and again her friends were summoned to witness her 
last sickness, and take their last farewell. And on 
these occasions, she had so often slightly and deli- 
cately hinted to Mr. Woodsum the propriety of his 
marrying a second wife, that even he could ai: last 



380 'way down east. 

listen to the suggestion with a degree of indifference 
which he haa once thought he could never feel. 

At last, the sober saddening days of -autumn came 
on. Mr. "Woodsum was in the midst of his "fall 
work," which had been several times interrupted by 
these periodical turns of despondency in his ^vife. 
One morning he went to his field early, for he had a 
heavy day's work to do, and had engaged one of 
his neighbors to come with two yoke of oxen and a 
plough to help him " break up " an old mowing 
field. His neighbor could only help him that day, 
and he was very anxious to plough the whole field. 
He accordingly had left the children and nurae in the 
house, with strict charges to take good care of theii 
mother. Mr. Woodsum was driving the team and 
his neighbor was holding the plough, and things weni 
on to their mind till about ten o'clock in the forenoon, 
when little Harriet came running to the field, and 
told her father that her mother was " dreadful sick " 
and wanted him to come in as quick as he could, for 
she was certainly dying now. Mr. "Woodsum, without 
saying a word, drove his team to the end of tho 
furrow ; but he looked thoughtful and pei-plexed. 
Although he felt persuaded that her danger wjis 
imaginary, a? it had always proved to be before, still, 



SETH WOODSUM's WIFE. fS81 

the idea of tlie bare possibility that tliis sickness might 
be unto death, pressed upon him with such power, 
that he laid Mown his goad-stick, and telling liis 
neighbor to let the cattle breathe awhile, walked 
deliberately towards the house. Before he had 
accomplished the whole distance, however, his own 
imagination had added such wings to his speed, that 
he found himself moving at a quick run. He entered 
the house, and found his wife as he had so often found 
her before, in her own estimation, almost ready to 
breathe her last. Her voice was faint and low, and 
her pillow was wet with tears. She had already taken 
her leave of her dear children, and waited only to 
exchange a few parting words with her beloved hus- 
band. Mr. Woodsum approached the bedside, and 
took her hand tenderly^ as he had ever been wont to 
do, but he could not perceive any symptoms of 
approaching dissolution, different from what he had 
witnessed on a dozen former occasions. 

"ITow, my dear," said Mrs. Woodsum, faintjj 
" the time has come at last. I feel that I, am on my 
death-bed, and have but a short time longer to stay 
with you. But I hope we shall feel resigned to the 
will of Heaven. I would go cheerfully, dear, if it 
was not for my anxiety about you and the children 



382 ' 'way d o Vv^ n east. 

ISow, don't you think, my dear," she continued, with 
increasing tenderness, " don't you think it would be 
best for you to be married again to some kind good 
woman, that would be a mother to our dear little 
ones, and make your home pleasant for ad of you ?" 

She paused, and looked earnestly in his face. 

" Well, I've sometimes thought, of late, it might be 
best," said Mr. Woodsum, with a very solemn air. 

" Tlien you have been thinking about it," said Mrs. 
Woodsum, with a slight contraction of the muscles 
of the face. 

" Why, yes," said Mr. Woodsum, " I have some- 
times thought about it, since you've had spells of 
being so very sick. It makes me feel dreadfully to 
think of it, but I don't know but it might be my duty." 

^' Well, I do think it would," said Mrs. Woodsum, 
" if you can only get the right sort of a person. 
Everything depends upon that, my dear, and I hope 
you will be very particular about who you get, very." 

" I certainly shall," said Mr. Woodsum ; " don't 
give yourself any uneasiness about that, my dear, 
for I assure you I shall be very particular. The per- 
son I shall probably have is one of tte kindest and 
best tempered women in the world." 

" But have you been thinking of any one m par- 



8ETH WOODSUMS WIIE. 383 

acular, my dear?" said Mrs. Woodsum, with a inani' 
fest look of uneasiness. 

'' Why, yes," said Mr. "Woodsnm, " there is one, 
that I have thought for some time past, I should 
probably marry, if it should be the will of Providence 
to take you from us." 

" And pray, Mr. Woodsum, who can it be ?" said 
the wife, with an expression, more of earth than 
heaven, returning to her eye. " Who is it, Mr. Wood- 
sum ? You have n't named it to her, have you ?" 

" Oh, by no means," said Mr. Woodsum ; " but 
my dear, we had better drop the subject ; it agitates 
you too much." 

" But, Mr. Woodsum, you must tell me who it is ; 
I never could die in peace till you do." 

" It is a subject too painful to think about," said 
Mr. Woodsum, " and it don't appear to me it would 
be best to call names." 

"But I insist upon it," said Mrs. Woodsum, who 
had by this time raised herself up with great earnest- 
ness and was leaning on her elbow, while her searching 
glance was reading every muscle in her husband's 
face. " Mr. Woodsum, I insist upon it !" 

" Well, then," said Mr. Woodsum, with a sigh^ " if 
you insist upon it, my dear — I have thought if it 



,•584 'way down east. 

should be the will of Providence to take you from us, 
to be here no more, I have thought I should marry 
for my second wife, Hannah Lovejoy." 

An earthly fire once more flashed from Mrs. 
Woodsum's eyes — she leaped from the bed like a cat ; 
walked across the room, and seated herself in a chair. 

"What!" she exclaimed, in a trembling voice 
almost choked with agitation — " what ! marry that 
idle, sleepy slut of a Hannah Lovejoy! Mr. Wood- 
sum, that is too much for flesh and blood to bear — ^I 
can't endure that, nor I won't. Hannah Lovejoy to 
be the mother of my children ! 'No, that's what she 
never shall. So you may go to your ploughing, Mr. 
Woodsum, and set your heart at rest. Susan," she 
continued, "make up more flre under that dinner pot." 

Mr. Woodsum went to the field, and pursued his 
work, and when he returned at noon, he found dinner 
well prepared, and his wife ready to do the honors of 
the table. Mrs. Woodsum's health from that day con- 
tinued to improve, and she was never afterward visitei^ 
by the terrible affliction of hypochondria. 

THK SHD. 



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